Empty
by Known Unknowns
Summary: House, soon after the remaining two tumors in his leg are removed, is fighting for his life once more... and his mind. House's friends and colleagues are forced to reevaluate their relationships with the enigmatic doctor, and life at the hospital will change forever. House/Wilson friendship, House/Thirteen friendship, Chirteen, and mild Huddy. Completed 12/7/12.
1. Blood On His Jacket

**Chapter 1: Blood On His Jacket**

**Author's Note: This is my first fic, I hope you enjoy! This is AU starting halfway through "Moving On".**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or it's characters. All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company.**

Gregory House sighed a deep sigh as he threw one leg over his motorcycle and haphazardly strapped on his helmet. It was time to head home after his brief stint in the hospital. His leg was screaming with pain despite the dozen or so vicodin he had taken since his surgery. The only thing that rivaled the pain in his leg was the pain in his heart. He had slammed shut the door on his feelings when Cuddy ended their relationship, and had been trying to outrun the heartbreak that was bound to catch up with him eventually. Wilson wanted him to talk, to let it all out, but how the hell was that going to help? House felt much better numb. When he was numb, when he didn't think, that's when he was okay. That's when he was normal. The vicodin and booze were the only two things that could halt his constantly racing thoughts, emotions, and of course, his pain.

As he started up his motorcycle and rode smoothly out of PPTH parking lot, his thoughts flashed to his pledge to change. How many times had he said he would change? Obviously since he found himself making the empty promise yet again, he had failed miserably on his previous attempts. It had taken landing in a hospital bed for him to think that maybe it was time to try again. But could he really stop who he was? His friends (well, friend) always blamed his rash, rude, and reckless actions on his vicodin abuse, or his alcohol problem, or his leg pain. As if that wasn't his fault as well. But did any of those things really have anything to do with it? Or was it just him? He had been consistently alienating people since he learned how to talk. He had always been rude, always been selfish. Peel away the addictions and pain, both emotional and physical, you didn't have some self sacrificing saint. You still just had House. _A misanthropic, bitter, apathetic son of a bitch. _He thought bitterly to himself as he stopped briefly at a red light.

It didn't matter, he decided, whether he changed or not. Because he would always be miserable. He would always be the man that-

His self pitying thoughts were cut off by a blaring car horn. Jerking his head to locate where the noise was coming from, House had only time to see the massive headlights of an eighteen wheeler before a slamming, unbelievable force crashed into him. He let out one choking, strangled noise, then his entire world went black.

**xxxxxx**

House's eyes split open, revealing a familiar, white space. He looked to see where he was sitting, and for some reason was unsurprised to see a perfectly white bus seat below him. Inhaling a deep breath, he smelled a familiar scent of lavender.

"Amber." He acknowledged without looking at the apparition of the beautiful young doctor sitting next to him.

"Observant even when you're teetering on the brink of death. Not bad." She commended, leaning forward in what he guessed was an attempt to cause their equally blue eyes to meet.

"Brink of death?" He repeated in a small voice.

"What, you thought that semi was trying to give you a hug?"

"All I saw were the lights-"

"I know what happened, and I'm sure you believe that I'm an extension of you, so that means you know." She stated simply.

"Are you _not_ an extension of me?" He asked warily.

"Would you believe me if I said I wasn't?" She asked with a small smile. House was looking at her now. She looked just as pristine and youthful as she did in life, and she had the same precocious and determined fire in her icy eyes. A pang hit House's heart. _You killed her. _He reminded himself. _You killed this woman. _Amber clucked impatiently.

"Oh, it was nearly four years ago, get over it! Pretty sad that I moved on from my death before you did." She shook her head exasperatedly. "The point is," She began.

"There's a point?" House said roughly. "I assumed this was just some vision before I died. Am I still alive?" He asked. There was no hopefulness in his voice, just a sort of calm resignation.

"No and yes." She said, now smiling broadly, something she only did in the company of Wilson when she was alive. "Nope. I'm here to tell you something..." She leaned close to House, her lips almost brushing his ear. _"You're getting a second chance..."_

There was a bright flash, and House knew no more.

**xxxxxx**

James Wilson sat looking absent mindedly through patient files as night set on Princeton. He breathed heavily through his nose and leaned back, abandoning the pretense that he was actually taking in any of the words he had just read. Wilson was, as per usual, worried sick about his best friend. The doctor had left in low spirits, and of course had discharged himself before he was nearly ready to leave the hospital. Wilson thought of House, who was likely passed out on his couch, an empty bottle of vicodin in his hand. Wilson had been struggling to decide whether he should stop filling out vicodin scrips for House. Some days, Wilson wanted to burn his prescription pad and call every doctor in the tri-state area and make sure that Greg House never got his hands on anything stronger than Ibuprofen.

But, as House put it, he needed unreasonable amounts of vicodin, because he pained in unreasonable ways. But House had been doing just fine off of vicodin for the past year in a half. Before Cuddy broke up with him, he had been doing... good? He wasn't sure that House did 'good', but nevertheless, the diagnostician was in the best state he'd been in since he and Stacy were in the height of their relationship.

He thought of calling Dr. Nolan. Perhaps the old black man could have some insight on how to react to House's recent insanity. First he jumps out of a fifteenth story window, goes on a drugs, booze, and hookers rampage, gets married, starts taking experimental drugs that had only been tested on rats, and then tried to perform surgery on himself in his bathtub. What was next?

He wasn't exactly on the road to recovery. Wilson rubbed his forehead and sighed. He needed to get his mind off of House, or he'd be killing himself with worry. He decided to call his friend and just talk to him. Wilson had House on speed dial, and moments later he was listening to House's voicemail with a furrowed brow.

"This is House. Leave a message." The long beep then came, and Wilson left a brief message.

"House, it's me. Call me back." He jammed his thumb on the end button and pushed his cell phone back into his pants pocket. Wilson shoved himself out of his chair and decided to head down to the clinic. He had six hours that needed doing, and he wasn't accomplishing anything by sitting in his office and staring at the wall, wondering what House was doing. If he didn't call back, he'd go to his house after work and check on him.

He began to make his way down to the ground level of the hospital. On his way to the elevator, he ran into Thirteen. _Remy_. He mentally corrected himself. He had been wanting to stop using the young woman's nickname for a long time. Wilson thought it a cruel reminder of the doctor's terminal neurological disease.

"Hey." Wilson greeted her, and she nodded at him as they stepped into the elevator together.

"What floor?" She asked with a raised eyebrow and light tone.

"Clinic." He stated. She nodded.

"Same here. We discharged our 'artist', and House hasn't decide to grace us with his presence or let us know if we're free to go, so I figure I might as well kill time in the clinic." She informed him.

"What are the others doing?" He asked. Thirteen let out a snort of derision in response.

"Please. The minute House was out of the hospital, they bolted out the door."

"Men." Wilson said sarcastically. Thirteen smiled at him.

"So..."

"I don't know." Wilson answered, more harsh and more quickly than he meant to. Thirteen didn't seem taken aback.

"Don't know what?"

"I don't know how House is doing. I assumed that's what you were going to ask. He discharged himself an hour ago and I don't know where he is, how he is, or what he's doing." He said in a monotone as the elevator door binged open to reveal the ER bay, which they had to go through to reach the clinic.

"Ah." Thirteen said simply. "Are you worried?"

Wilson thought about how to respond, and deemed the younger doctor trustworthy.

"...yes. Yes, I'm worried. I called him, but he didn't pick up."

"Foreman tried to call him about fifteen minutes ago. No answer with him either." Wilson remained silent at this statement. His worry had only increased now. It was unusual for House to ignore calls on his phone. The diagnostician may act flippant and uncaring towards his patient, but his phone rarely got the chance to ring more than once before he picked it up to see if there was something wrong with his patient of the week.

Thirteen and Wilson plodded silently through the ER. He tried to avoid looking at the patients. He guessed by the open ER bay doors and rush of gurneys and shouting, that there had been an accident of some kind. For a doctor, he did not have a very strong stomach for blood and gore, and he hated the sight of human suffering. However, he could not keep his eyes from landing on the newest entrant of PPTH. A man, covered in blood, broken, and near death. There was something familiar about the man. The left side of his head was so completely caked in blood, and with a choking sound in his throat, Wilson thought he saw what he guessed was brain matter. A crumpled, destroyed arm lay jammed against the gurney railing, and both of his legs looked equally damaged. He couldn't help his eyes watering slightly. That man no doubt had a family, had a life, a job, people who loved him-

He froze in his thoughts of sadness over the stranger. Because he realized now, that this was no stranger. His eyes were glued to the jacket the man was wearing, a black leather motorcycle jacket with a red stripe over the breast...

"HOUSE!"


	2. What's Left Of Him

**Chapter 2: What's Left of Him**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own House MD, and all rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company.**

* * *

"HOUSE!"

Thirteen's eyes darted to Wilson as he bounded faster than she thought possible to the ER bay, making a beeline to a crumpled man laying on a gurney. Confused, Thirteen followed after him. Wilson was at the man's side, prizing open his eyelids despite the loud protests of the Emergency crew surrounding him.

"Wilson, what-" She paused as she saw the man's eyes. Wilson was breathing in ragged gasps as he examined then.

"No, no, no!" He said in a choked whisper. "NO!" He said louder. Thirteen understood now. Although the body before her was lacerated, blood covered, and broken, those stunningly blue eyes could only belong to one person.

It appeared that what was left of Gregory House had just landed in the ER. One of the paramedics placed a hand on Wilson's shoulder and pushed him gently backwards.

"This man needs attention now, sir. One of the admitting nurse's will speak with you if you know him."

"But-"

"He doesn't have much time!" The other medic said. The heart monitor attached to House had just beeped loudly. The alarm was going off-

Wilson and Thirteen were practically thrown into the waiting area as four medics rushed to House's aid.

"He's in cardiac arrest." Wilson muttered to himself. "He's... he's dying." He said, seemingly unable to believe that his best friend was lying half dead on a gurney about ten feet away.

Thirteen had simply forgotten how to speak. The dying man she had just seen... _was_ seeing, that couldn't be her boss. House was invincible. He couldn't be, he just couldn't be the person who now had paddles pressed to his chest, his life hanging by a thread.

"NOW!" Yelled one of the medics. House's body jerked in a strange way, and his bludgeoned head lolled sideways.

His heart was still silent and unbeating, at least according to the heart monitor next to him.

"No..." Wilson was repeating this under his breath as he gripped one of the chairs in the open waiting room so tight that his knuckles turned white. "No, no, no."

Another shout of "NOW!" and yet the heart monitor continued it's frantic beeping. Wilson's horrified eyes were glued to his dying best friend, and he looked seconds away from falling apart. Thirteen felt as though she should comfort the oncologist somehow, but she felt frozen where she was, eyes glued to the emergency team.

"NOW!" Was yelled yet again, and this time four sighs of relief alerted her to the success of the paddles before the heart monitor. House's heart now appeared to be beating slowly along, keeping the fragile diagnostician alive. Before Wilson or Thirteen could close in on him, however, he was rushed of in the direction of the OR.

Wilson's legs seemed to weaken, and he seated himself in the chair, putting his head in his hands. Suddenly, she could sense and feel her limbs again, and Thirteen beckoned over a nurse.

"That man that was just brought in, his name is Dr. Gregory House-" Her voice caught, but she shook her head to clear her thoughts. _Break down later. _She chastised herself. She motioned to Wilson. "Dr. Wilson is his medical proxy. Tell him what happened and what Dr. House's chances are. If you need consent for anything, you ask him." She said firmly. She then placed a comforting hand on Wilson's shoulder.

"I'm going to go get Cuddy." She said softly as she padded silently out of the ER, which seemed to be barely there. The only thing on her mind at the moment was getting Cuddy. Although they were no longer together, Thirteen was almost positive that Cuddy and House still loved each other, and the only thing keeping them apart was a mixture of stubbornness and House's addiction.

She weaved her way in out and of patients and doctors coming into the admitting area. To think, just five minutes ago she had come down here to do clinic duty. _Five minutes ago? _She thought to herself. It seemed like a different world. A world where House was very much alive and well, and ready to come limping into the differential room at any moment to berate her and the other fellows.

She lightly pushed open the door to Cuddy's office. The Dean of Medicine was reading something attentively on her computer, and didn't seem to have noticed Thirteen enter. Thirteen took a heavy breath. It felt like it did when she delivered bad news to a patient's family. _Well, that's exactly what I'm doing, isn't it?_

"Dr. Cuddy." She said, grabbing the older woman's attention.

"Oh, hello." She muttered. "Is there something you needed?" She asked distractedly, eyes still glued to her computer. Thirteen was trying hard to keep her composure.

"It's-" Before she could stop herself, her eyes began leaking. "It's House." Thirteen had planned to say more than this, but no doubt her broken expression spoke loud and clear that whatever had happened, it was very, very bad.

"Where?" Cuddy asked, fear and concern coloring her cerulean eyes as she jumped out of her chair, nearly knocking over her desk. Yes, this woman still loved House.

"He was in the ER when we saw him, but they rushed him off to the OR after he went into cardiac arrest." Cuddy's eyes flared at that.

"Is he-"

"He's alive. But I don't know for how long. Wilson's talking to one of the nurses in the ER, trying to figure out what happened." She informed her in a pained voice. She didn't understand this sudden emotion she was producing. Although she liked House, something that ninety nine percent of people couldn't claim, they weren't extremely close. Perhaps it was the older doctor's offer to kill her when her disease reached it's zenith. It was, undeniably, the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her. That assurance that someone would be there at the end with her.

Yes, that was it. As House's life slipped away, so to did her steadfast confidence that he would be there with her to end her life when she needed him too.

More tears came as Cuddy rushed out of the office, and Thirteen quickly ducked out of her office and followed her as she rushed to the ER, heels clacking wildly. Everything about Cuddy's demeanor screamed one word.

Fear.

**xxxxxx**

Wilson listened, not uttering a word, as the pretty ER nurse explained to Wilson exactly how and why his best friend was dying.

"There was a bad car accident at the intersection of Brown and Gooding, downtown. Semi blindsided Dr. House, who was on his motorcycle, and three other cars at a red light. Nine people total got caught in it, two dead. As you can see, Dr. House is not one of them, but his condition is very serious." She paused, flipping through House's chart, which had just been handed to her by an orderly. "His skull has been cracked open, and his brain has been damaged." She looked sympathetically at Dr. Wilson. "I'm sorry, but I can almost guarantee he has brain damage. But right now, we're focusing on keeping him alive. All of his ribs are cracked, his maxilla is fractured, every bone in his left arm is shattered, and his left leg has a deep laceration that may have actually partly severed his tibia. His right knee cap is fractured and his right arm was pulled out of it's socket." She took a breath, continuing to rattle off all of House's injury. "Both of his collar bones are shattered, and he has a significant amount of bruising and lacerations, and he also has a severe burn on his right thigh. Also, the stitches from his recent surgery were torn out, and he's lost a lot of blood. I'd say fifteen percent of his normal capacity. We're not sure how extensive his internal damage is, that's what they're finding out now. We're under the impression that his spleen has experienced irreparable damage. It will need to be removed before blood pools in his abdominal cavity." She glanced at him briefly. "Do they have consent to do this?" She asked. Wilson nodded, his mouth slightly open. She called over the same orderly and sent him running off to the OR.

"He's... he's going to die." Wilson choked out. The nurse shook her head.

"Dr. Wilson, I promise you we will do our best to keep Dr. House alive." Wilson blinked, unable to respond. The nurse said nothing more, and departed. What was there to do now but wait? Wait for a solemn looking surgeon to exit the OR, take down his mask, and quietly explain to him that House was dead. There was nothing they could do.

Wilson, who was not prone to crying in front of people, let a single tear fall from his eye before leaning his head back against the wall and trying to calm himself.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar clicking of heels, and turned his head to see Cuddy rushing towards him. He stood up quickly.

"Wilson." She said his name softly. Before she could ask anything or he could respond, he wrapped her in a tight embrace. Wilson leaned now into Cuddy's shoulder, and in a hoarse voice very unlike his own, he struggled to explain what had happened to House.

"Semi." He blurted out, struggling to keep himself from letting more tears escape. This was not the time for weakness. "Blindsided him. He- everything is broken. He's got a severe brain injury, I- I could see his brain. They're in the OR, removing his spleen, try-trying to-" His mouth refused to utter a single noise after this. Waves of despair crashed over him, and he felt as though he would drown if Cuddy wasn't there next to him. She had not yet responded.

"All there is to do now is wait." Thirteen suggested demurely from behind them. Cuddy pulled back from Wilson, and her blue eyes met his.

"She's right." Tears were threatening to spill from her cheeks. He sank back into his chair, and Thirteen and Cuddy took the seats on either side of him. He leaned his head back against the wall, trying to control his wild emotions, but with each attempt, a fresh picture of House dying on the gurney blazed in his mind, eliciting more tearing within his chest. He realized suddenly that he had Cuddy's hand in a death grip. Although he loosened his grasp slightly, he did not let go. There was nothing romantic in the gesture, but having his friend here made the dark, paralyzing fear in his heart lessen ever so slightly.

Wilson didn't know how long they waited in the OR. He knew he had exited his office around seven thirty, because night had just fallen on the warm spring day. They sat silently until they were joined by a sober looking Chase, Foreman, and Taub. After Thirteen explained to them what happened, the doctors wordlessly sat down next to their colleagues. The night was long. The longest of any of their lives. Not one of them did anything to break the silence, as if almost they were sitting a vigil for House, who was not yet dead. And really, what was there to say? Each of the doctors respected each other to much to offer any meaningless platitudes, and talking about the situation would only hurt more than their dark silence.

Daylight had started to seep in the hospital when they finally saw a tired looking surgeon with blond hair that Chase identified as Dr. Reynolds came striding towards them. He seemed taken aback by the amount of sullen people waiting for news of House in the waiting room.

"He's alive." He said. Six audible sighs of relief could be heard, and Wilson's eyes were threatening to spill over in relief at hearing this. But he pursed his lips instead, knowing that 'He's alive' could mean anything. "He's not in good shape, Dr. Wilson.

Dr. Reynolds quietly explained to the group of doctors that they had spent all night in surgery, repairing or removing House's damaged organs and stitching several deep lacerations. They had spent the last two hours taking care of his burns and splinting, casting, and resetting all his broken bones. They had inserted a silicon plate to replace the bit of skull House had lost, and they had injected cortisol directly into House's brain to reduce ICP caused by the crash. House was now on IV morphine as well, not to mention the calcium that was being administered to encourage bone growth. House was also being given new blood, since he had lost so much since the accident. He was now comatose, lying in bed in a private room in the ICU.

"How long until he recovers?" Cuddy asked from behind him. Dr. Reynolds sighed deeply.

"Until he's completely healed? Four to six months. Physically. But," He warned them with a finger. "there is a ninety percent chance he suffered moderate to severe brain damage. It's doubtful he'll retain all of who he was before, and he might need serious physical therapy to regain use of all his limbs. He broke thirty eight bones, ravaged seven internal organs. We had to remove his spleen and a section of his small intestine. It truly is a miracle he survived."

There was a silence among the group, until Chase spoke. "So, he's stable? He's not going to die?" Dr. Reynolds nodded.

"His quality of life is up for debate, but he will survive."

With Dr. Reynolds departure, there was uncertainty in the air. Foreman stepped forward.

"Cuddy, Wilson, Thirteen... you guys need to get home and sleep. Taub and I will stay with House." Wilson was taken aback by the neurologist's offer. He began to protest, but Taub silenced him.

"You have a practice to run, we-" He motioned to the rest of the ducklings. "obviously don't. Foreman caught a nap earlier and I can just sleep in the on-call room later."

"I'll stay too." Chase interjected. "I don't have anything else to do..." He trailed off, examining the other doctors shrewdly. "We'll call you if anything happens." He said as he nodded at them. Cuddy seemed to paused. Wilson examined her out of the corner of his eye. She looked ragged and tired, as did Thirteen. He was sure he looked the same, if not worse.

"Alright." Cuddy acquiesced, and he nodded to show his consent. Thirteen looked at them, biting her lip.

"I should-"

"_No." _Chase said at once, concern flashing in his deep blue eyes. "You need to go to sleep. I'll throw you in my car and drive you back to your house myself if I have to."

Thirteen bristled, but offered no more resistance. Heads hanging from exhaustion, the three doctors made their way out of the ER, and, after grabbing their things from the locker rooms, out into the now misty Monday morning. Wilson looked at the two women, and before they could leave he swept them into a wordless embrace, which they returned. Although they had spent the night in silence, none of them were eager to speak just yet. He pulled back and looked at them. Cuddy, mature and intelligent, hardened against the tortures of the world but the pain was very visible in her eyes, and he knew even she could not remove the knife in her heart knowing that when and if House awoke, there may well be nothing left of him. Next he switched his eyes to Thirteen, young and frightened, but with strength and resilience emanating from her, as if she dared God to destroy the genius doctor that lay in the hospital. Daring Him to throw yet more tragedy her way.

"I'll see you guys later. I'm coming back to the hospital after lunch." He didn't need to ask if they would be meeting him here, he knew they would. They separated and departed to their individual cars.

Wilson was barely coherent on the ride home, and was grateful for the mild traffic. He purposely took the long root back to his apartment, so he could avoid seeing the sight of House's accident. He had read in the morning paper it had been on the intersection of Brown and Gooding. He shuddered. An image of House lying bloodied and broken, crushed under the weight of his motorcycle, drifted into his thoughts.

Wilson didn't even bother to change when he got home, he simply threw himself into bed, willing sleep to take him to a less frightening world. Before he even had a chance to pull the covers over him, he fell into the warm embrace of sleep, and for the first time in twelve hours, he did not feel as though his heart was about to burst.


	3. The Waiting Game

**Chapter Three: The Waiting Game **

**Disclaimer: STILL don't own House! All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company.**

* * *

Despite the fatigue that filled Thirteen so utterly, she simply could not will herself to sleep. She was lying facedown on her bed, pressing her face into her pillow, screaming at her brain to kindly shut the hell up so she could sleep.

Why was she so worried about House? He was, for the time being, alive. There was nothing urgent that needed her attention. It's not like she had work to do, what with her boss being in a coma.

Yet here she was, her heart beating unusually fast, thoughts unable to move off of her incapacitated boss. To be honest, in a very strange way, she had almost considered House a bit of a father figure. Unlike how he treated the other ducklings, House seemed to actually like Thirteen. She felt that if she had met House through circumstances other than working together, they may have been friends. Good friends, in fact.

Once again her thoughts landed on House's sworn promise to kill her when her Huntington's symptoms reached critical mass. Would he still be willing and able to fulfill that promise now?

_Stop it. _She told herself firmly. _I'll be satisfied just to see his eyes open, I don't need to go freaking out over whether he'll be up for killing me in five to ten years._

She pulled her covers closer around her. Her whole body screamed with both emotional and physical exhaustion. She thought for a moment about Wilson, who she had never seen in such a state as she had last night. When Amber had died, Thirteen had witnessed him cry and shake with loss and grief, but it was nothing compared to what she had seen when House's heart stopped. The man completely broke down, seemingly drowning in his own misery. She didn't pretend to understand the two men's relationship. When she had first started working there, she wondered for a short time if there was a romantic level to House and Wilson's friendship, but after working with the two men for years, it had been very clear that both men were straight and had no romantic interest in the other. This was not, however, to say that they did not love each other. Thirteen was quite sure that they did, though she doubted either of them would ever admit to it.

Thirteen groaned out loud, and continued to try fruitlessly to sleep.

**xxxxxx**

Rachel had just left for school when Lisa Cuddy arrived back at her home. She felt a pang of guilt for leaving Rachel overnight with a nanny, and not even bothering to see her off to school. She made a beeline for her bed, and after taking of her work clothes and changing into a tank top and shorts, she collapsed into her bed, and cried.

She wasn't sure how long she just laid there, salty tears stinging trails down her face. She cried and cried and cried as every bad thing that had happened and could happened flowed through her mind. House, dead. House, brain dead. House, paralyzed. House, House, House. She admitted, fully now, that she still loved him. She had always loved him. Why had it taken him nearly dying twice in three days to make her regret her decision to end their relationship?

Eventually, she removed her head from her hands, where it had rested while she let her tears fall. Her head was throbbing, and her eyes were now dry and itchy. A wave of exhaustion swept over her, and she laid back in bed and promptly fell asleep, her hands still moist.

**xxxxxx**

Chase, Taub, and Foreman stood staring at what was left of their boss.

Almost his entire body was encased in a plaster cast, with the exception of his right arm, which was bare except for a splint on his middle finger. A large bandage was wrapped around House's head and his left eye. A large, oozing burn was visible on his cheek, and it was covered in a thick ointment. All that was visible to identify the diagnostician was a portion of his face. His right eye was visible, although closed, and his entire stubbly chin, mouth, and nose.

"He's..." Foreman didn't know how to finish the sentence. House was in completely abysmal shape. Over his eight or so years with House, Eric Foreman had seen his boss in a hospital bed on several occasions, but it had never been like this. House, though crippled, had a certain strength and presence about him. The shell in front of him clashed so much with this perception, it was as if it was a completely different person on the bed.

Chase and Taub had already sat on the small couch in House's room, so Foreman occupied a chair in the corner, still staring intently at his boss.

"Where the hell is his attending?" Foreman asked. "He's been out of the OR for nearly a half an hour... there should be an attending physician, neurologist, and psychologist up here considering all his injuries."

"Why don't you take over as his attending, if it bothers you so much?" Taub asked.

"No." Foreman said firmly. "My emotions would get in the way. Every single time House has treated someone he knew, the results weren't good." He paused for a moment.

"Amber wasn't his fault." Chase said, his chin resting on his folded hands. "There's nothing he could have done to save her."

"You saw the way he acted when we were treating her," Foreman countered. "We were always acting on the assumption we were wrong, not that we were right. That's not how House functions. But, because he knew her, he acted differently. It didn't directly cause her death, but it could of if the situation had been different."

"So who is his neurologist?" Taub asked.

"That would be me." A voice said from the door.

In the door stood a beautiful woman. Tall, with cascading auburn hair that hung slightly below her shoulders. Her eyes were a bright, unusual shade of green, which went well with her soft yet defined features. Foreman realized too late for his own embarrassment that his jaw had dropped. He looked over to see Chase and Taub in similar states, and felt slightly less stupid. Foreman stood up and strolled over to the doctor.

"Hello, er, I'm Doctor Foreman." He said extending his hand. The woman took it and smiled at him. "We're," He motioned to Taub and Chase, "Dr. House's colleagues."

"I'm his attending neurologist, Dr. Rae Lynn Collins." Foreman now picked up the woman's light southern accent, and he found it undeniably attractive.

Chase and Taub seemed to materialize at either side of them, much to Foreman's irritation.

"You must be new. We haven't met." Chase said pleasantly, his hand reaching out accompanied by a winning Chase smile. "I'm Doctor Robert Chase." Dr. Collins returned his smile and shook his hand briefly, only to have it immediately taken by Taub.

"Chris Taub, plastic surgeon. It's a pleasure." Foreman eyed him with contempt. Taub had two kids on the way from two different women. What the hell was he doing playing the field?

"It's very nice to meet you all. I'm sure you're anxious to hear about Dr. House." Dr. Collins said as she moved deeper into the room to stand near the foot of House's bed. She sighed, pulling out her chart and putting on a small pair of wire rimmed reading glasses.

"As you can see, he's not in good condition. But thankfully, it looks like none of his physical damage will be permanent. Depending, he may need physical therapy for his arm, but his legs got off better than we thought. It'll be roughly a month before he can put any weight on his legs, so if he wakes up within that span of time, he'll have to be in a wheel chair. He has severe burning on his right leg and face, we'll need to do some skin graphs, though nothing too serious. If we're lucky the scar on his face will scarcely be noticeable..." She trailed off as she continued reading. "His maxilla was severely fractured, that will have the second longest recovery time, I'd say three months, but the thing that's going to keep him in bed are his ribs. Every single one is broken. Bone fragments impaled some of his major arteries, but those were repaired in surgery. We had to reset them, and we don't want him moving around too much. His collar bones will take eight to ten weeks, and his fractured knee cap, with the brace, should be alright in about six to eight. We also had to stitch up his thigh muscle again, since his stitches got ripped out in the accident. Also, the recovery time for removing his spleen and the bit of his small intestine is about two weeks, nothing major." She now sighed, and removed her eyes from the chart and looked at him sympathetically.

"His brain." Foreman said quietly before she could get the words out.

"We won't know until he wakes up how bad the brain damage is. It looks like most of the damage was done to the Hippocampus, Amgydala, and the Cerebellum. I assume I don't need to explain to you what that could mean." Foreman lowered his eyes.

"He could lose refined motor skills, memory..." He paused. "There's a chance he might not wake up period."

"I'm afraid so." There was thick silence in the room.

"What are the chances he'll come out of the coma?" Chase asked as he lowered himself back into the loveseat.

"About fifty-fifty. We can never be a hundred percent sure in cases like these. Sometimes, we tell family members their loved ones will be up and about in a week or two, and twenty years later, they're still waiting. Sometimes we tell them there's no hope, and then a few days later they're out of bed and their families are grabbing their lawyers. Generally, if a month passes without any signs of advanced brain activity, we can assume that the likeliness of them waking up are slim to none." Dr. Collins explained.

"So that's it then?" Taub said. "We just... wait?" He asked incredulously.

"At this point there's really nothing we can do. Except just..." Foreman couldn't think of the right word.

"Being here for him, that should be enough." Dr. Collins said kindly. "And... well, you know the urban myth about coma patients still being able to hear." She smiled brightly and winked. Usually something like this wouldn't cheer Foreman up, but he found himself offering her a small smile back.

"If you need anything, just page me." She said, pulling a business card out of her pocket. "For now, I'll be overseeing all treatment. Once he's out of the coma, we'll need to get him a physical therapist and psychologist, depending on the severity of his brain damage." She hesitated before leaving the room. "Really, if you need anything at all, all you need to do is ask. I know this is hard, but know he's in good hands." She nodded at them and softly closed the door behind her. Foreman heaved a sigh and reoccupied the chair in the corner.

"She was hot." Chase commented. Taub looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"We just found out our boss could be a vegetable, and you're ogling-" Taub began.

"'_Chris Taub, plastic surgeon. It's a pleasure._'" Chase mocked. "What, is 'Chris Taub, philanderer and lackey.' not a good enough pick up line?"

"I _am_ a plastic surgeon! Just not a practicing one." He protested. Foreman pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"You guys are giving me a headache." He muttered roughly. Chase and Taub temporarily stopped their argument to look at him. They mumbled apologies and Chase seemed to become preoccupied with his fingernails and Taub began paging through a decade old copy of US Weekly.

_It's going to be a long month. _Foreman decided wearily.

**xxxxxx**

Wilson peeled open his eyes to blazing rays of sunlight. _I should have closed the curtains. _He thought as he rolled over in his bed, trying to adjust himself so he faced away from the light. It was awfully bright for six thirty, the time he usually woke up...

Suddenly the events of the night before came rushing back, and his eyes snapped open as he nearly jumped out of bed. _House!_

He was already dressed, but upon experimentally sniffing himself, Wilson realized he should take a shower before rushing off to the hospital.

"Calm down." He told himself as he headed for the bathroom. "Foreman, Chase and Taub are with him... he's fine." He muttered as he checked the time. It was eleven. He had gotten about five hours of sleep, not nearly enough. But at the moment, he didn't find himself caring very much.

He quickly disrobed and ducked into the shower, putting the shower on nearly full blast hot. He stood their, letting the hot water dazzle over his tense muscles. Ever so slightly, Wilson relaxed. He allowed himself the luxury of the pleasant beating of the water for a few minutes before washing his body and hair, then stepping out into the now steamy bathroom.

Wilson toweled off and headed back to his bedroom, throwing on the first decent shirt he found and absent mindedly grabbing a pair of pants. He didn't bother with a tie, he knew without asking that Cuddy was giving him a personal day, along with the rest of the team and, he hoped at least, herself.

After dressing, he raked a comb through his hair and brushed his teeth, pausing in front of the mirror.

At forty five, Wilson wasn't exactly a spring chicken anymore. He looked younger than he was, at least he liked to think so. He examined his reflection. His bronze hair was trimmed short, slightly above his ears. Laugh lines were just barely becoming visible next to his warm brown eyes, which now had a tired and desperate look to them that was not usually found there. He looked like a man who had been through hell.

It was a very accurate representation of how he felt inside.

Disregarding the rumbling in his stomach as he passed his kitchen, Wilson grabbed his car keys from the coffee table and exited his apartment, heading resolutely to his car.

Once inside, he seemed to forget how to operate the vehicle.

_Am I going to be able to handle what I see when I get to the hospital? _He thought to himself as he stared blankly at the steering wheel. He shook himself out of his temporary stupor. Yes, he would handle it. He would handle it for House.

Once again, he seemed to barely know what his hands were doing as he made the fifteen minute drive to PPTH. All he could think of was what could be awaiting him when he arrived at the hospital.

He parked in his usual spot and headed to the door, not surprised at all to see Cuddy had just exited her car and was also marching towards the hospital, looking as worn down as he did. They met at the door, and as they pushed into the lobby, Wilson greeted her.

"How are you?" He asked in a strange tone that was both trying to convey comfort and a need to hear that someone was as broken as he was. Cuddy remained silent as they plodded through the crowd in the clinic and headed towards the elevators. As she pressed the button for the third floor, she took a short breath, and responded.

"I feel like crap." She said simply. "And I'm assuming you feel the same."

"Yeah." He muttered. "That about sums it up."

As was seeming to become a custom, they were silent on the brief elevator ride. Wilson was the one who broke it.

"Cuddy... I'm here for you if you need me." He offered, his voice unsure.

"I know." She answered. "I'm here for you too."

The doors binged open and they walked into a surprisingly deserted ICU. _Good. _Wilson thought to himself. _More privacy._

He knew for a fact that his private and stoic best friend would never want anyone to see him in his current state of weakness and pain. The less people who saw his friend in this state, the better.

As they walked down the deserted corridor to House's room, their footsteps echoed eerily. The nurses at the third floor nurse's station looked at them with pity, and for some reason Wilson found himself irritated with this gesture.

As they turned the corner and nearly crashed into Thirteen.

"Oof, watch where you're-" She broke off as she saw Wilson and Cuddy. Her expression immediately changed.

"Chase, Foreman, and Taub are still in there. I was going to go get us coffee." She informed them. "You want me to grab you some?" Cuddy declined, but Wilson nodded.

"Double cream and sugar. And thank you." He said, meaning the words for obviously more than the coffee. Thirteen and nodded and walked away. Wilson had noticed that she looked even more tired than Wilson felt. He was unsure of the nature of House and Thirteen's relationship, but he knew that House liked the young doctor, and when it came to House, that was really saying something.

Wilson braced himself as he and Cuddy stopped outside of House's private room, one of the few in the hospital that didn't have a glass outer wall. He suddenly found a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked over to see Cuddy's eyes. Full of strength, but with pain visible in them. For a brief moment, she reminded him stunningly of House.

The illusion was quickly shattered.

No. House was inside, barely alive... and waiting for them.

They pushed into the room.

Before he could take in the very tired looking trio that sat before them, Wilson's eyes immediately darted to House. He was... broken. That was the only way Wilson coud describe. It seemed that every inch of him had something wrong with it. It was not the bandages, the lacerations, the burns, or the bruises that seemed to shake Wilson to the core. No, it was the fact that his eyes were still closed, and he was still in a coma. What he would have given to see those blue eyes staring back at him, a smartass remark on his lips. He forced himself to look away, not wanting to break down in front of the ducklings.

Foreman was in a chair in the corner, looking at something on his phone, his eyelids drooping. Chase and Taub sat paging through respective magazines on the loveseat, looking as though they were second away from cuddling up and falling asleep. All three of them jerked up their heads abruptly at the sound of Cuddy and Wilson entering the room. Foreman stood up quickly, but his lethargy caused him to stumble and grab the wall for support. He looked slightly embarrassed, but spoke in a strong voice.

"I spoke to his attending, Dr. Collins." Cuddy's eyes flashed with recognition, but Wilson had never heard the name. "She's a neurologist... it looks like his recovery will take about three months, physical therapy adds another two to three months. He'll be bedridden for about a month, he can't put pressure on his legs..." Foreman was doing a very bad job of dancing around the one injury they all wanted to know about. He would not meet Wilson's eyes.

"Foreman." Wilson said firmly, but not rudely. The younger man finally lifted his dark eyes to meet his own.

"There's a chance... he might not wake up." He said almost too quietly to hear. Wilson stared at him.

"He... but..." He couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. He knew his mouth was hanging open dumbly.

"They say there's a fifty percent chance that he'll wake up. If he doesn't wake up within the month..." Foreman broke off. "From there, they'll no how bad the brain damage is... but until then, it's really just a waiting game." Wilson blinked, taking in the information. House might not wake up.

_House might not wake up._

Wilson made a decision in that moment. He would be at House's side until he woke up. Because when those eyes opened, Wilson was determined to be the first thing he saw. He would stay with the older doctor every minute he could until he awoke, and he _would. _

God had already taken Amber from him, he was _not_ taking House.


	4. Visiting Hours

**Chapter 4: Visiting Hours**

**Disclaimer: I do not own House MD.**

* * *

It was a good thing Cuddy was the Dean of Medicine, because otherwise six people would not have been allowed to crowd around House in his room. Wilson, Cuddy, and Thirteen had borrowed extra chairs from vacant rooms, and now the private room was positively cluttered.

Thirteen had returned shortly after Foreman had informed her and Wilson of House's condition. She was now regretting her choice to not get coffee, because despite the five or so hours of sleep she had gotten, she still felt her eyelids drooping.

Now they sat, and she knew that despite the fact that House lie broken and silent a mere feet away, if there was any time to talk about arrangements during House's incapacitation, it was now.

"If you four are up to it..." She began, taking a deep breath. "I'd still like a diagnostics department."

All four of them jerked their heads up in surprise.

"Are you sure we're ready for that?" Taub pointed out dubiously. Chase scoffed.

"Foreman and I have worked for House for nearly nine years. I think we're good enough doctors not to go killing patients the second he's gone."

"But the question is, who's the big man now that House is gone?" Thirteen asked. "Or woman." She added, almost under her breath. Foreman rounded on her.

"What, you think you've got enough experience to run the department?" Foreman asked incredulously.

"Wow. You could not have possibly been more condescending about that." Thirteen observed.

"Look, all I'm saying is that you've worked here the shortest of any of us."

"I'm not exactly jumping for the position. I'd much rather watch you and Chase fight like dogs over who gets to be the boss." She commented.

"Who said that I wouldn't want the job?" Taub asked.

"A second ago you asked if we were 'ready for it', you don't seem to have much confidence in our abilities or yours."

"I was just making a point that-"

"Stop!" Cuddy said loudly, holding up her hand. "You don't have to argue about it, I've already decided who get's the position." She sighed, knowing the stream of arguments were not going to end here. "Based on the results of the last time Foreman was left in charge," She began, referring to when Foreman had attempted to run the diagnostics for a brief period upon House's release from Mayfield. "I think that the job should go to Chase. He's worked for House longer than anyone, and I think he's ready to-" As Cuddy predicted, Foreman launched into his protests before she even got the chance to finish speaking.

"Chase? He can't even handle his personal life, how is he supposed to handle this kind of-"

"House couldn't handle his personal life, and he was still good at what he did. Undeniably so." Chase said quietly, seeming to take in the fact that he had just gotten a promotion. He now looked at Cuddy. "If you're serious about the offer..." He squared his shoulders, and a determined glint showed in his light blue eyes. "I'll do it."

Foreman's eyes were dark with outrage.

"If this is based off how I acted two years ago, do you think that's really-"

"FOREMAN!" Cuddy was getting irritated by how childish the neurologist was acting. "This isn't up for discussion." She said in a soft voice, looking pointedly at Foreman. He held her gaze for a long moment, then relented, sighing and leaning back in his chair.

"So..." Taub trailed off.

"If any of you want to take time off, I'll completely understand. Otherwise, you can start tomorrow." They all seemed to consider this. Thirteen's radiant eyes darted to House, laying on the bed in his disheveled state.

"House would give us hell if we took time off." She stated. Chase laughed slightly, and Taub's lips curved slightly, and she could even detect a hint of amusement in Foreman's brooding expression.

"So. That settles it then. Until the time when House is able to take back over his practice..." She got lost for a moment, realizing that the chances of House doing that seemed very slim indeed. "Chase, it's all yours. Good luck. I expect a significant decrease in lawsuits." Chase smiled slightly and gave her a quick nod.

"Also. I expect all of you to be able to function tomorrow, so Foreman, Chase, Taub, go home." She ordered, quelling their protests with a finger. She then turned to Thirteen.

"Dr. Hadley, working under the assumption that you actually slept, you can stay. However, I seriously doubt you did." She raised an eyebrow at the young woman.

"I'm fine." She lied. "I'll stay." Cuddy was tempted to order her away, but if everyone who was on the verge of collapse had to leave, than she would have to usher Wilson and herself out as well. She nodded to Thirteen. Foreman, Taub, and Chase stood up to leave. As they began to exit, she grabbed Foreman's arm.

"Thank you, you three." She said quietly. "For staying with him." All of them looked at her strangely. Chase spoke in a kind and comforting way that she wasn't accustomed to hearing from the surgeon.

"No problem. If you need us, you know our numbers." She knew this offer held several meanings. With a creak, the door shut, and Thirteen, Cuddy, and Wilson were alone in House's room.

Cuddy had a feeling she would be spending a lot of time here.

**xxxxxx**

A strange schedule, focused around House, soon formed in the following days.

Wilson simply stopped sleeping at his apartment. He slept every night on the loveseat in House's room, determined to be there every moment he could.

Wilson and Cuddy ate lunch everyday together in House's room.

Every spare moment any member of the team had, they were in there, sitting quietly at his bedside. He was surprised to find that Thirteen and Chase were there almost constantly, not leaving the hospital until nine or ten at night. Taub and Foreman would visit often in their free moments. Cuddy tried to see him as much as possible, but with her responsibility to both the hospital and Rachel, her visits were often short and she always looked very reluctant to leave the older doctor's side.

It was Thirteen who came up with the idea to hold differentials in House's room.

"In about seventy percent of cases, coma patients can still hear... it'll give him something to do. Internally berate us for our stupidity." Although this was wishful thinking, the other three doctors approved, and Chase moved a whiteboard into House's room.

Every moment he wasn't with a patient or doing paperwork, Wilson was with House, so he got a first hand look at the new team, led by Chase, and their first case two days after his appointment as the new head of diagnostics.

Three symptoms were written on the white board. Syncope, double vision, and intermittent lucidity. Wilson sat at the chair by House's bed, hands folded, examining House's face for any sign of life, as was his custom.

"Thirty six year old male, one Jason Lakeland. Works as a coach for a minor league baseball team."

"It's obviously neurological." Foreman began as Chase finished the y in lucidity. "ICP?"

"No signs of swelling on admitting tests, not to mention no sign of headaches." Thirteen pointed out.

"He may just not be complaining." Taub suggested.

"The kind of headaches that come with ICP aren't something you keep quite." Chase told him. "I was thinking MS. We need to do a lumbar puncture. Unless anyone has any better ideas?" He asked, not rudely, looking around. The other three doctors shook their heads. "Alright then. Foreman, Taub go run the LP. Thirteen, you and I are going to his house." Chase seemed to be dealing with holding authority much better than Wilson thought he would, and within moments the group was out the door, leaving Wilson alone.

There was no argument. No questioning of motives, no invasion of personal lives. He smiled to himself. House would be absolutely disgusted. He stared at his friend, willing his eyes to open, willing him to speak, to make fun of Wilson for his constant presence at his side. Before he was aware of his actions, he had clasped House's hand in his own. He gripped it and sat there like that for a long time, until he got a page. He sighed, reluctantly releasing House's hand and exiting his room.

**xxxxxx**

"You've been head of diagnostics for two whole days and Foreman hasn't questioned your authority yet." Thirteen commented as she and Chase stepped into the backyard of their patient's home. "You're lucky." Chase laughed humorlessly.

"As soon as he finds a reason, he will, I'm sure. He's probably hoping I'll screw up so he can get the job he thinks he deserves." He sniffed experimentally at the air. "You smell that?" He asked. Thirteen shrugged. She thought it would be rude to tell Chase that she couldn't smell much of anything over his cologne.

Chase bent on one knee and began picking the lock on the backdoor. He was an expert at this, and it only took him a moment before Thirteen heard a _click_ and the door swung open.

"Well, I figure if you manage to get a pretty good streak of non-dead patients, he might actually start to respect you." She quipped as they entered the kitchen. They both gasped at what they saw.

Cats. Everywhere. Every inch of the house seemed to be covered in a thick layer of mewling fur.

"_Dear God_!" Chase coughed as he tugged up his collar to plug up his mouth and nose. Thirteen let out a small shriek and backed up.

"That explains the smell." She said as she imitated Chase and stuffed her nose with her blouse.

"There must be twenty cats just in this room!" Chase exclaimed as he plodded slowly through the kitchen, treading carefully so he wouldn't step on one of the cats. Thirteen did the same.

"Great. This makes everything a lot more complicated. This place is a cesspool." She said. The thick smell of urine permeated the cloth around her nose and mouth, making her eyes water and nearly choking her. As they headed into the living room, it was just as bad.

"He's probably got a hundred cats running around this place and one cat box." Chase added. Although there were food dishes every couple feet, with various kinds of decomposed nourishment in them, there seemed to be no sign of a litter tray anywhere.

"We've got to get samples of everything. This could be a million different things. I'll take the downstairs, you take the upstairs." Chase said in a muffled voice. Thirteen nodded, and acknowledged that Chase had taken it upon himself to handle the much larger downstairs.

Dodging cats all the way, in various states of emaciation, having not been giving fresh food or water since Jason had been admitted to the hospital a week ago, she headed upstairs. Just a bathroom, an office, and the house's sole bedroom. She started with the bathroom, searching it thoroughly, swabbing every surface. In a house like this, there could be a thousand infection agents and bacteria that could be the cause of Jason's symptoms.

Much to her disgust, upon opening the cupboard below the moldy sink, she found a decimated cat corpse.

"Ugh..." She bit back the bile rising in her throat. Using tweezers, she bagged a sample of the dead cat's fur, as well as a mold scraping. As she extricated herself from dark space, she was met by a light pressure on her shoulder and a soft meow in her ear. She jumped slightly and turned to see a small white kitten on her shoulder.

It looked malnourished, but it's eyes were glistening with playfulness. Thirteen could not help but smile, and scooped up the small kitten in her hand.

"Hello." She said. The kitten meowed and rubbed it's whiskers against Thirteen's palm. The small creature was positively adorable. She looked at it for a moment, smiling, and placed it back on her shoulder. "Might as well come along for the ride, huh?"

Next she was in the office. This room had no cats in it, as it was locked from the outside. Thirteen quickly picked the lock and stepped in, relieved that it smelled significantly less terrible than the rest of the house.

"Let's see what secrets your owner's got."

**xxxxxx**

Thirteen slammed down a bottle of oxycontin on the table in House's office. Taub and Foreman appraised it after having just revealed that the LP was negative for MS.

"Well, if the herd of cats at his house isn't the cause of his illness, the oxy may have something to do with it. It's street oxy," She said, dumping it out on the table. "Could have anything in it. We need to test it, along with everything else we picked up from the house. Looks like all four of us are spending the day in the lab." Chase nodded his assent, but wasn't exactly pleased. This meant a lot of work ahead.

"I'll worry about the oxy, you guys test the samples we lifted from the house. I'll meet you down there later." Foreman stared at Chase, looking as though he was trying to find something flawed in his command, but seemed to fail. As they turned to leave, Thirteen held up a hand.

"Actually, I, uh, wanted to ask you guys how you felt about something..." She fidgeted nervously as she reached her hand into her pocket. "I just couldn't leave her..." She pulled out a small white ball of fur, which Chase realized, upon closer inspection, was a kitten.

"Thirteen! You have no idea what that cat could have." Chase scolded, narrowing his eyes at the small mewling shape.

"It's not rabid, and other than being a little underweight there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with her..." She sighed. "I do have girl moments from time to time. I just couldn't leave her in that dump... animal control would come get her, take her away, and probably end up putting her down like the rest of those cats because they're 'health risks'. We've had cats hanging around the office before and no one cared. I'll feed her and clean the litter box, can't we just... keep her?" She asked, her voice sounding higher and pleading, which was something very, very strange indeed coming from Thirteen.

"Why don't you just take her home?" Taub asked.

"I'm not allowed to have pets in my apartment." She answered. "Come on. Please?" She asked, proffering up the kitten and letting her face drop into a pleading frown. Chase looked at Taub and Foreman, an eyebrow raised. Foreman shrugged, and Taub seemed to consider it for a moment.

"She is cute." Taub conceded. Chase let out a loud breath through his nose, and turned back to Thirteen.

"As long as I don't have to clean the litter box." Chase mumbled. Thirteen's face broke into a broad grin, and Chase couldn't help but smile back at the way her eyes had lit up.

The white kitten wasn't the only cute thing in the office.

**xxxxxx**

The days seemed to be flying by for Wilson. The hours and hours spent in House's room, gently holding the diagnostician's hand, and with one ear listening in on the differentials, seemed to meld together. His back now pained him excessively from sleeping on the small couch, and one day as they ate lunch at House's bedside Cuddy timidly suggested he go home to sleep that night.

"No." He said firmly. "I'm going to be here when he wakes up." The tone in his voice said loud and clear to Cuddy that this was not up for discussion.

The team cured Jason Lakeland successfully after reporting him to the ASPCA and Animal Control. He was forced to get rid of ninety five of his one hundred and five cats, and was fined quite heavily for his inattentiveness and animal hoarding. The team had been sure that his cesspool of a house or oxycontin abuse had to be responsible for his symptoms, but although most of samples from the house cam back positive for something, upon testing Jason, he had none of the ailments in his body. The team was stumped, but it was Thirteen that decided that there was another symptom to add, a hyperactive immune system.

"He should be sick. If you go wallowing around in a pit of pestilence and disease, you should be filled with pestilence and disease. It isn't consistent."

Upon adding this to the white board, the team surmised that Jason had amyloidosis, and their first patient was released four days later.

Wilson also learned from Thirteen that apparently there was a new member of their team. An adorable white kitten named Amber now resided in House's office.

Although the name was consistent with the color of the cats eyes, Thirteen told him in a small voice that she thought it would be a good way to remember the young doctor. This touched Wilson. He was not the only one still feeling Amber's loss. Before he knew it, he had swept Thirteen into a hug, something he rarely did with anyone.

"Thank you." He said, almost too much of a whisper to hear.

**xxxxxx**

Wilson's heart clenched with unease as two weeks had passed. Although House's bruises and cuts were fading, and the bandage covering his eye had been removed, there was still no sign of life from him.

Sixteen days after his accident, House was going in for the skin grafts to his face and thigh. The six of them were waiting outside, along with Dr. Collins. He couldn't pretend not to notice Foreman's close proximity to the beautiful neurologist. He leaned over to Chase.

"Is Foreman seeing her?" He asked out of the corner of his mouth. Chase laughed bitterly.

"Unfortunately. He asked her out last week before I got a chance. He's really got a thing for her. Actually seems to have emotions when she's around. It's quite strange, really."

House's skin grafts went well, and there was only a faint outline on his cheek to show where the burn had been, and a small strip of his beard that no longer grew as thick.

The most marring result of House's accident was the large scar that led from the top of his forehead, over his eyelid and eye socket, and coming to rest at the top of his cheekbone. Dr. Collins had commented that he was lucky he hadn't been blinded.

Another week passed, and as House's deadline approached, he had a constant pit in his stomach. He still had not awoken. He was still in a coma.

Wilson often found tears leaking out the corners of his eyes, and he felt weak for allowing this to happen. He needed to be strong for House, he couldn't turn into a whimpering sissy man.

As the days passed, he found Cuddy neglecting her duties to be with House. He saw his own worries reflected in Cuddy's eyes, a terrified and desperate look.

Wilson decided he would have given just about anything just to see House open his eyes.

Only four days were left until June fifteenth, a full month since the accident. Within the group of them that cared about House, smiles were becoming forced, laughter scarce, and a somber silence seemed to sit over them when they were visiting House. Even differentials were becoming strained, as each of the ducklings were continually stealing glances at House, perhaps hoping that they had missed him waking up, that perhaps he was just sleeping.

It was now the night before the fifteenth. Wilson sat hunched at House's bedside, gripping his hand tighter than usual, and despite himself, he found himself praying.

"Please." He whispered. "Please let him wake up." He whispered this under his breath over and over, late into the night, a constant and breathless chant. The hours clicked by. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

When the clock struck twelve, he couldn't help himself. He removed his hand from House's and lowered his head into his hands, letting out a shaking sob. He was no fool. He knew the month deadline wasn't firm. But now the dim flame of hope in his heart was flagging even more so. He felt like he was drowning, and he wasn't-

A groan suddenly shook him from his misery. He looked to the door, expecting to see someone there, but saw nothing but vacant space.

_I must be imagining things... lack of sleep. _Wilson had indeed been getting very little sleep of late, perhaps-

There it was, another groan, and this time he knew where it emanated from. With a gasp, he scrambled forward, leaning over to House, his ear near his mouth.

"House?" He asked in a choked whisper. Another groan. Wilson pulled back. House shifted under his covers, something he hadn't done in the entirety of his coma. He was flexing his fingers.

Two shockingly blue eyes opened to meet Wilson's, and he felt his heart and knees go weak with relief. He kneeled next to House's bed, unable to speak for a long moment. House's eyes seemed dazed, and they were fixed firmly on Wilson.

"House." He whispered, his face breaking out into a smile. "House. You're _awake_." He savored the words, having wanted to say them for so long.

House merely blinked at him. Wilson was still smiling. It was sure to take him a few minutes to find his voice again. I mean, he hadn't spoken in a month-

But Wilson was wrong, it didn't take House long to find his voice at all, for after brief moment, he uttered three words that filled Wilson with dread...

"Who are you?"


	5. Telephone

**Chapter 5: Telephone**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own House! All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company.**

* * *

The phone ringing at two in the morning was not unusual for Cuddy, so she didn't think much to hear the insipid ringing on her nightstand as she attempted to sleep after a long day of work.

She fumbled around next to her lamp for her cell phone, and was half way out of bed and to her dresser when she pressed the green button and answered the unknown caller with a bleary hello.

"Cuddy." She heard Wilson's voice over the phone, sounding shocked and tired. She blinked her eyes for a long moment. She assumed this was going to be Wilson needing her comfort. The deadline was June fifteenth. They both of course knew that in the medical world exact dates and deadlines meant very little, but it was the symbolism of it that would no doubt be wearing on her friend.

Hope for House's awakening was waning.

"Hi." She answered carefully, indicating for him to inform her of his purpose for calling.

"It's House." He seemed to choke on the words. "He's- he's- he's- Lisa," He said, using her first name for one of the only times she could remember. "Lisa, he's _awake_."

Cuddy's jaw dropped, and so too did her phone. She quickly scrambled to pick it up again.

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

**xxxxxx**

Despite only having been seeing Dr. Foreman for three weeks, she found herself wrapped in the black doctor's arm late at night in his apartment, shedding clothes quickly.

Eric hadn't been quite like any other man she had dated. It never felt like an obligation, a task, to be with him. It was natural, and it was enjoyable. Their first date had been dinner, and they talked until they were forced out by the wait staff. It had been five hours.

Dr. Rae Lynn Collins did not believe in love at first sight, but Eric was making her question that.

Smiling as he kissed her, he slipped off her blouse with a skilled hand and replaced his hand at the small of her back, bringing her even closer to him. She ran her hands up his back, leaving them to rest at his neck as she chose to deepen their kiss. As he lowered his hand to cup her hip, he leaned back slightly to look her in the eyes.

"Is this what you-"

"Yes." She said breathlessly. He smiled again, and their lips met once more.

Much to her consternation, her cell phone rang loudly at her side. She wanted to ignore it, oh, how she wanted to ignore it... but she was a doctor. She couldn't neglect her patients or career for anything. She pulled back, eliciting an irritated sigh from Eric. She gave him an apologetic look and picked up her phone.

"Dr. Collins." She answered, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"Dr. Collins. It's Dr. Cuddy... we need you at the hospital as soon as possible." Rae Lynn knew if it was Dr. Cuddy calling, it must have involved Dr. House.

"Has something happened?"

"Dr. House is awake." Foreman, standing so close to her, overheard and gaped at her. She assumed a similar expression of shock on her face. Although she had not shared this with Eric, or anyone else for that matter, she was under the assumption that Dr. House would not be waking up.

"I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can, fifteen minutes tops. Are you at the hospital?"

"On my way. Wilson called me." Cuddy said. Rae Lynn nodded, then remembered that Cuddy couldn't see her.

"I'll be there soon. I'll... inform Dr. Foreman as well." She said, smiling at Eric. She saw a twinge of humor in his dark eyes as he grabbed his coat from the coat rack. They had only made it a few feet into his apartment. She hung up her phone.

"Shall we go see Dr. House then?"

**xxxxxx**

Chase groaned as his cell phone went off. He had been relaxing on his couch, a good book in hand. A good book that was now on his face, since he had fallen asleep. He quickly grabbed his cell and flipped it open.

"'Lo." He muttered. "Dr. Chase."

"Chase, it's Foreman. House is awake." Chase sat up abruptly.

"What!" He asked, rubbing a hand across his face. "How do you know? I thought you had a date with Collins."

"Wilson called Cuddy, Cuddy called Collins, Collins told me, I'm telling you."

"Do Taub and Thirteen know yet?" Chase asked, pushing himself off his couch and heading to his door. He was still dressed from work, and decided he'd just brush his hair before he got out of the car at the hospital.

"I don't know. Wilson may have called Thirteen, she's probably still at the hospital. I'm pretty sure Taub doesn't know." Foreman responded, and Chase heard the audible sound of a car door slamming shut.

"I'll call Taub and meet you there." Chase told him, shutting his phone as he did so.

**xxxxxx**

Taub yawned loudly as he reached for his cell phone and checked the caller ID. He had been doing online research for their latest case, one Janice Carmichael.

"What is it, Chase?

"It's House. Foreman says he's awake. I'm heading to the hospital, want me to swing by and pick you up?" Taub stared at his phone, briefly wondering whether he had dosed off and was dreaming.

"You serious?"

"No. April Fool's, our boss is out of a coma. Of course I'm serious." Chase said sarcastically.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm still dressed for work... just beep when you're outside." Taub said hurriedly as he stood up, searching for his wallet, keys, and coat.

"See you in a minute."

**xxxxxx**

Janice Carmichael apparently did not have Transverse Myalitis. Or Spinal Muscular Atrophy. Or Spinal Disc Degeneration.

Thirteen rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands. They had drawn straws to see who got stuck running lab work for the night, and it had been Thirteen. She still had to run tests for MS and a histology for Von Hippel-Lindau's. All of which she was pretty sure were going to come back negative.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by her phone. A text from Wilson. She opened the message. It read simply,

"Get down to House's room ASAP."

She didn't need any more of an explanation.

**xxxxxx**

When Cuddy arrived, a reserved and somewhat frightened looking Wilson was waiting outside of House's room, his head leaned back against the wall. Thirteen stood next to him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Wilson..." Cuddy hurried towards them and stopped so she was eye to eye with her friend.

He looked at her with his deep brown eyes, and she knew something was very, very wrong. He opened his mouth, looking as though he was searching for the right words. He then closed it again and shook his head, wincing visibly. Cuddy now turned to Thirteen, confused by Wilson's demeanor. Before she could ask Thirteen what was wrong, however, a voice echoed in the empty ICU behind her.

"Dr. Cuddy? Dr. Wilson?" She turned to see Dr. Collins walking quickly towards them. She came to an abrupt stop upon seeing Wilson's expression. "What's happened?" She asked, her voice dropping. Within moments Foreman was behind her, with Taub and Chase following close behind. Wilson gulped.

"...House..." He began shakily. "House has no memory left at all. He doesn't know who he is, where he is, or..." His voice broke, and a single tear leaked down his cheek. "...or who any of us are."

There were several gasps and a long, shocked silence. All of the doctors looked at each other, catching each other's eyes, as if to confirm if they had heard the same thing.

"He has absolutely no long term memory?" Dr. Collins asked softly. Wilson shook his head.

Cuddy's mind was racing. Hardened, strong, invincible House... without memory... _"All I have is my mind! That's it!" _House shouted from within her mind. Had House lost the most important thing he had ever possessed?

"None." He responded in a monotone.

"What of his motor function?"

"He's having trouble clenching his fist, and he can't raise his arms above his head. Other than that, I don't know, since most of him is still in a cast." Wilson was talking quickly now. "What do we do now? You said when he wakes up he'll need a psychical therapist and a psychologist, but I-"

"Dr. Wilson." Dr. Collins held up a hand. "I promise you that if you come back here in fifteen minutes, I will have all the necessary professionals here and you will all be able to see Dr. House. I know how to handle this, and as his attending, I'll make sure what needs to be done will get done. Go get some coffee, I'll page you when we're ready to move forward." She said in a calming tone. Cuddy couldn't help but admire how quickly the young doctor had taken control of the situation, and for a brief moment she was reminded of herself about fifteen years before.

Wilson merely dipped his head as a sign of assent, and lead the entourage out into the ICU lounge. Thirteen muttered something about going to go get coffee, and Chase accompanied her. They were silent for a few minutes, but it was broken by Taub.

"Wilson... what exactly happened?" Cuddy had wanted to ask this, but had decided not to push it, because Wilson seemed deeply troubled by what had occurred.

"He... woke up. Right after midnight. He... he asked me who I was. I said, 'It's me, it's Wilson.' and he just stared at me blankly. I asked him if he knew where he was. He didn't. I asked him if he knew his own name... he stared at me for awhile. Then he said, 'No. I don't.'" Wilson then placed his head in his hands, choking back a sob.

"His hippocampus must have been damaged badly to lose all of his long term memory." Foreman commented soberly. "What about his general knowledge, his procedural and spatial memory?"

"I don't know. I left the room and called Cuddy as soon as I figured out he'd lost his memory." His voice was muffled by pain and his hands. Cuddy felt a deep pang of sympathy for her friend... to look into the eyes of your best friend, and see no sign of recognition there...

_I'm going to have to go through more or less the same thing when I see him._ She realized suddenly. She wasn't sure if she was going to be able to handle that.

_I will. For House. _She reaffirmed in her mind. She would not give up on House, whether his mind was blank and empty of all memory, or if he was confined to a hospital bed, or if he was trapped in a wheel chair, or brain dead. No condition would force Cuddy away. However disastrous her relationship with House had been, she needed him in her life, and she liked to believe that he needed her. She loved him. The definition of that love was that she would be at his side, unwavering when he needed her.

And if there was ever a time when House needed her, it was now.

She gulped as she reached her hand over and took Wilson's in hers. She wasn't going to offer any verbal comfort, for she could think of none, but she hoped the small gesture would let Wilson know that he was not alone.

**xxxxxx**

Thirteen and Chase had made it halfway to the nursing station before Thirteen grabbed his arm and pulled him into a side corridor.

She did not want to break down in front of the others. She hadn't wanted to break down in front of Chase either, but unfortunately he had decided to come with her to get coffee, and she could think of no decent way to shake her boss off. So, she collapsed on a waiting bench in a deserted hallway and covered her face with her hands, and wept, completely disregarding Chase's presence.

Chase stood their awkwardly for a few moments, unsure of what to do. He hesitantly reached out to pat Thirteen's arm, but then decided differently. He coughed lightly and offered her his hand. She looked at him quizzically for a moment, her blue eyes dark with sadness. Seeming to debate with herself before she slowly took his hand. He pulled her up quickly and enveloped her in a tight embrace. Thirteen tensed against him, and he contemplated pulling back, but then merely gripped her tighter, running a hand up her back.

"Thirteen..." He said quietly in her ear. "I'm here for you."

After a second of deliberation, she relaxed into his arms, now wrapping her own around the blond doctor's waist. She was unsure how to feel about this sudden intimacy with Chase, but at the present moment, she had much more important things on her mind.

Burying her face in Chase's shoulder, she cried almost silently into his rumpled shirt. She cried for House. She cried for Wilson. She cried for Cuddy. She cried for herself. House's mind was damaged, the one thing he held above all else. He had no memory of any of the few people who had meant anything in his life.

And also, she realized, he would not remember her, or his promise.

Chase and her clung to each other for a long time in the eerily quite hallway. She felt that he needed comfort from her as much as she needed comfort from him. When she finally pulled back to look at him, his pale blue eyes were shining with unshed tears. _Is he trying to hold it together for me?_

With a sigh, she disentangled her arms from Chase's, and took several steps backwards, her eyes now downcast. Seeing the surgeon in such pain felt a pang of emotion she hadn't expected to be feeling. If anything, the pitiful sight in front of her did not seem to match with Chase's typical strength and authority. She had come to look at him as, perhaps, an older brother of sorts. Though not even close to replacing House as her mentor, he had taken good care of the department, and she had found herself holding greater respect for him, and after a second's deliberation, she decided that she indeed thought of Chase as a friend.

But by the look Chase was giving her, she briefly wondered if he looked at her as more than that.

**xxxxxx**

No less than fifteen minutes after Dr. Collins had sent them off, Wilson received a text to return to House's ICU room, and he relayed this message to the rest of their group, which now had Chase and Thirteen returned to their number.

They plodded down to House's room, apprehension sparkling in six pairs of eyes. Wilson stopped in front of Dr. Collins, who was now accompanied by a rather intimidating black man and a short, brown haired woman. Dr. Collins nodded sullenly at the group.

"Everyone, this is Dr. Harmon," She said, motioning towards the large black man. "and this is Dr. Hennessey. " She pointed at the short woman. "Dr. Harmon will be Dr. House's physical therapist, and Dr. Hennessey will be his psychologist. She'll be directing you on where to go from here, as this is her area of expertise, not mine."

Dr. Hennessey stepped forward and offered her hand, which Wilson briefly shook, anxious to hear what the psychologist had to say.

"Dr. Wilson, I understand you are Dr. House's best friend?" Wilson nodded, raising his eyebrow.

"Yes..."

"How long have you known Dr. House?" She asked.

"About twenty three years."

"Excellent." She retrieved a small notepad from her pocket and scribbled in it. She now smiled at him. "Alright Dr. Wilson, here's what we're going to do..." She paused. "We need to see how bad the loss is. Sometimes memories can be jogged, and not to mention we need to know the amount of damage done to his amygdala, where emotional memory is held. Even if he's lost all of his long term memories, he could still feel the same emotions towards people, objects, places, what have you. The best way to do this," She paused again as she finished writing on her pad and pocketed it again. "The best way to do this, Dr. Wilson, is for you to explain to Dr. House who he is, and tell him his life story."

"I have to tell House... who he is?" Wilson stammered, realizing the responsibility this held. _His whole life, who he is, depends on my interpretation. _Dr. Hennessy nodded, smiling very slightly.

"That's _exactly _what you're going to do."


	6. The Blank Slate

**Chapter 6: The Blank Slate**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD. All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company.**

* * *

"I... I don't know if I can do this." Wilson murmured as he placed his hand on the icy door handle that would lead him to his best friend. He found Dr. Hennessey's hand on his shoulder, who would be accompanying him, but would remain utterly silent.

"You're his best friend. If he'd want to hear who he was, what he did in his life, he would want to hear it from you." She said. Wilson jerked his head to show that she was right. He had to do this, House would want him to... _But House is gone now, isn't he?_

Shaking his head to clear his dismal thoughts, Wilson pressed into House's room, closing his eyes for a brief moment when he arrived. He felt Dr. Hennessey move to the chair in the corner of the room that was usually occupied by either Cuddy or one of the ducklings.

Another deep breath.

Wilson opened his eyes.

He didn't know why he had been so loathe to look at House, but he knew exactly why when he met the old doctor's eyes.

The lost, hazy confusion in them broke his heart.

_House has no idea who I am. _This thought had been playing in his mind since the diagnostician had opened his eyes. Wilson tried to ignore the rising pain in his chest, and stepped towards House's bed. He lowered himself into his bedside chair, never breaking eye contact with House. He wasn't quite sure how to begin...

"Er... hi." He realized how lame it sounded the minute it came out of his mouth.

"Hello." He could not help but notice how different House's voice sounded. It was lower, more subdued than normal, and also had a bit of a nasal tone to it that had not been there before. His voice did not sound as gruff and harsh as before, it sounded almost... timid. Wilson nervously glanced at Dr. Hennessy, who no doubt saw his confusion.

"Start telling him about himself, then explain who you are." She said softly. Wilson nodded, then looked at House, unsure where to begin. _Might as well start at the beginning._

"Your name is Dr. Gregory Jonathan House. You were born fifty two ago in Scranton, Pennsylvania to John and Blythe House." He paused, wondering if House understood this information. The look in his eyes expressed intense curiosity and attention. He decided to press on. "Your father was in the military. You moved around a lot as a kid. Japan, Egypt, Germany... you went all over. It was hard on you." He stopped. Did House really need to know how hard his childhood was? _You can't lie to him. He wouldn't lie to you if positions were changed. _

"Your... your dad was very strict. He always expected the best from you, and he didn't spare punishment if he received less. You hated him. Some part of you loved him, I'm sure. But, you hated him. You figured out when you were twelve that he wasn't your father. When you told him your theory, he didn't speak to you for an entire summer. You had gotten it in your head that a friend of the family was your father because of identical birthmarks you have on your scalps."

"You always did well in school. You're a genius. Brilliant, intuitive, observant. You could have been anything you wanted to be." He took a moment to recall the story House had told him roughly five years ago. It seemed like a different lifetime.

"When you were fourteen, your father was stationed in Japan. You and your friend went rock climbing. He fell and had to go to the hospital. None of the doctors their could help... except one. A Japanese untouchable. He didn't dress well, he was rude, he didn't pretend to be wanted or to fit in with the other doctors. But they needed him, whether they liked it or not. Because he was right. And that was all that mattered." Wilson took a deep breath, realizing it was going to be a long night. House's life had been prolific to say the least.

"That was the day you decided to be a doctor. I don't know much about your high school years, I know that's when you started liking music. You play the guitar, you play the piano, and you're not a bad singer, either. You've always had a knack for just about anything you did. You started medical school at Michigan once you graduated high school. Unfortunately, after several years, you were kicked out for cheating. You started attending John Hopkins instead, and graduated in the top five percent of your class after ten years of schooling. You had a double specialty in infectious disease and nephrology. You did your residency at Saint John the Baptist's Memorial Hospital in Providence Rhode Island. By the time you finished your residency, you had already earned a bad enough reputation that no hospital would touch you. Dr. Cuddy, however, took a risk. When you were thirty years old, you started working at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital as a diagnostician, which is where we are now." Wilson motioned to the room around him. House's gaze was still firmly fixed on him, urging him to continue.

"That was also the same year we met. You were down at a medical conference in New Orleans. One night, after the lectures were over, you went into a bar. I can't remember the name, but... you saw a depressed looking man sitting at the bar. Someone kept playing the same song over and over again on the juke box. He was drunk. He was pissed. He threw a bottle at an antique mirror, and was dragged off to jail for vandalism, destruction of property, and inciting a riot." His voice had dropped considerably, and he wondered if House could hear him. "You followed that man to jail and bailed him out, because you thought he was interesting. That man was me..." His voice trailed off, and he couldn't help but smile.

"My name is James Evan Wilson. I'm an oncologist. I went to Harvard Med. I've had three unsuccessful marriages, and you've been my best friend for twenty years. I nag you a lot and we watch old movies together and eat take out. But enough about me," He couldn't lie, he was feeling nostalgic. "let's get back to you."

"Two years after we became friends, you started seeing a woman named Stacy Warner. You went on one date. It was awful. A week later, you had moved in together. You were together for five years. Until..." His eyes darted to House's leg. "until your muscle infarction."

"Thirteen years ago, you had a severe muscle infarction in your thigh muscle. You experience muscle death, which is... excruciating, to say the least. The best course of action would be to remove your leg. You refused. You had yourself put into a forced coma because of the severity of the pain. Stacy took over as your medical proxy while you were out, and she decided on a risky and dangerous surgery that although saved your life, left you crippled and in constant, chronic pain. You started taking vicodin, which over the course of the past thirteen years you've become addicted to."

"Stacy and you separated a few months after the surgery. She felt guilty, you resented her. It was hard for you. It was around this time that a job opened up as head of oncology at Princeton Plainsboro. I took it."

"About five years later, Cuddy gave you the all clear to hire a three person team. You hired Robert Chase, Eric Foreman, and Allison Cameron, each for different reasons. Cameron for her looks, Chase because his dad made a call, Foreman for his criminal record. But, they were a dream team. All skilled, all smart, and ready to learn from you. You taught them a lot. You taught them how to be doctors, you taught them what medical school couldn't teach them." Perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick, but at the moment all he could focus on was House's eyes. Though his brain was essentially a blank slate, and things would likely never be the same, he was still reveling in the fact that his friend was awake. "They respected you, and you respected them. I think. About six or seven months after you hired the three of them, the hospital got a new contributor. He became head of the board of directors. His name was Edward Vogler, and he did _not_ like you. He thought you were lazy, unprofessional, and essentially a liability. He did everything in his power to get you fired, but in the end Cuddy and I stood by you, and thanks to her the hospital lost one hundred million dollars, and the rest of us got to keep our jobs. Shortly afterwards, you ran into Stacy again." Wilson had to keep a tremor out of his voice. Having to relive some of the darkest moments of House's life was... difficult. House had never been one to talk about things, or share his emotions, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that every time Stacy crossed House's mind, all the pain came rushing back.

_But House wouldn't remember that, would he? This won't hurt him at all if he hears this. It's like hearing about someone else's life. He has no sense of identity yet. He may never feel like himself again._

With a gulp, Wilson continued.

"She was married to a man named Mark Warner, who was sick. She begged you to treat him, and you agreed. Lo and behold, you treated him and he lived, although he needed a good amount of psychical therapy to regain the use of his legs." He couldn't stop his eyes from darting to House's immobilized lower half. "Knowing she would have to stay in the area for Mark's rehab, she took a job as the hospital's lawyer. At first, you just wanted to prove that she still had feelings for you, but eventually you realized, (or admitted) that you still loved her. You slept together, and she was ready to leave Mark for you." Wilson hitched in a breath. "You told her to leave and be with Mark. You knew she would be better off without you."

"It was hard on you, Stacy leaving. But you dealt with it like you always do. By not dealing with it. About six months after Stacy left, you... were shot. You were shot by a disgruntled ex-patient's husband, Moriarty. He shot you, and he got away. You had a hallucination after you were shot, and you decided you wanted meaning in your life. You had an epiphany, and just before you passed out you asked Cuddy to put you in a kedomine induced coma. She did, and miraculously, your leg stopped hurting. For two and a half months, you could walk, run, do all the things you used to. Without vicodin. Unfortunately, the kedomine treatment didn't stick. Your leg started hurting again, and you went straight back to vicodin."

"Shortly after that, you had the misfortune of getting one Michael Tritter as a clinic patient. You were rude with him, as per usual, and he got pissed and kicked your cane out from under you. In retaliation, you made up a lie about having to use a rectal thermometer on him, which you shoved up his rectum and promptly left him in the exam room."

"Tritter was a cop, and he started a one man vendetta against you. He arrested you for speeding, unlawful possession of narcotics, and he impounded your bike and threw you in jail for a night. I had to bail you out. Tritter didn't stop there, though. He put pressure on your team, on me, on Cuddy. Trying to find out how much vicodin you were taking. They ransacked your apartment, and Tritter thought you had so many that there was intent to traffic. He started shutting down all our bank accounts, and he towed my car. I had to shut down my practice. I also found out that you stole my prescription pad to write yourself prescriptions for vicodin. I wasn't going to tell Tritter, but then you nearly cut a little girl in half and punched out Chase after Cuddy cut you off from your vicodin. I told Tritter I didn't write the scripts. He gave you a deal. Put yourself in rehab by Christmas day, and you wouldn't face jail time. You took the deal, but only after stealing oxy from one of my dead patients. Without needing my testimony, the deal was off the table. You faked going to rehab at last moment to try and get Tritter off your back, but he still dragged you to court. Cuddy perjured herself to keep you out of jail. You only spent one night in jail because you were held in contempt of court." Wilson tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"A few months later, Foreman resigned. He was afraid he was becoming like you. Cameron followed suit and resigned, and you fired Chase. Chase and Cameron started seeing each other directly afterwards."

"So, you needed a new team. Instead of just interviewing and hiring three well qualified fellowship applicants, you started a competition. Using a budget for three, you hired forty 'contestants' to compete for the three spots. However, the three spots turned into two spots. Foreman, since he worked for you, got blacklisted. Much like you, no hospital would touch him. After two months, you had it narrowed down to four applicants." Wilson could no longer hold House's gaze, and instead his eyes dropped to his own hands, clenched on his knees. He was going to have to talk about...

He blinked his eyes heavily. It had been four years. Amber was dead, and dancing around her name would not bring her back, and not make the pain any better.

"Christopher Taub, Remy Hadley, Lawrence Kutner, and Amber Volakis. You managed to argue Cuddy up to letting you keep three instead of only two. You hired all of them except for Amber..." He trailed off, wondering if House was coherent enough to hear the pain in his voice. "I started seeing her. At first you hated it, but eventually you just decided to let us be. You thought we'd fall apart on our own, and decided you didn't need to help."

"Things were good. You had a new team. Amber and I were happy. You and I were good."

"But one night you went to a bar. You got drunk, and the bartender took your keys. You needed a ride home. You called me... I wasn't home. Amber went to get you instead. You left the bar without her. You were just going to take the bus. She followed you on, wanting to make sure you got home safe. For me. The bus got blindsided by a garbage truck. You got a brain injury, it started out as a minor concussion. Amber's leg was impaled and her kidneys were damaged. But there was more. Her heart couldn't function on it's own. She was dying, and we didn't know why."

"I asked you to risk your life by doing deep brain stimulation to jog your memory. Your brain was already damaged, and you had a seizure during the stimulation, causing you to go into a coma. But, you did find out what was killing Amber. Her flu pills. Since her kidneys were damaged, she couldn't filter the amantadine from the pills. She was poisoned by a healing drug." He let out a humorless laugh, then sighed. "Amber died several hours later."

"I didn't speak to you for months. I resigned as head of oncology, and told you I wanted you out of my life. But, early in 2008, your father died. As a favor to your mother I..." It sounded silly now that he was saying it out loud. "I kidnapped you. I managed to get you to the funeral, albeit a few hours late (thanks to you) and everything went well. You even gave a halfway decent eulogy, by your standards. But, when you went to your father's coffin, you stole an ear hair from him to do a DNA test on, so you would know if he was your father or not. I... kind of freaked out. I chucked a bottle through a window in the funeral home."

"And we became friends again." He honestly didn't know how to elaborate further on that point.

"It was a hard time for both of us. Me, losing Amber. You losing your father and not sharing that it hurt you. It ended up he wasn't your biological father. You never said if it bothered you or not. You were popping vicodin like candy... and then Kutner killed himself. He had shown no sign of being depressed. We were all completely blindsided. You didn't go to Kutner's funeral."

"You didn't sleep a solid night after Kutner killed himself. Chase and Cameron got engaged, and around the time of Chase's bachelor party your started having sever hallucinations. Partly because of lack of sleep, partly because of vicodin, and partly because your mind was simply falling apart. You... you were hallucinating Amber." Wilson knew if he stopped now, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to continue.

"You were completely losing your mind. You hallucinated over forty eight hours of time, thinking you had slept with Cuddy and detoxed. Cuddy brought you into my office around midnight. You were barely coherent. I checked you into Mayfield Psychiatric, where you stayed for two months."

"You detoxed, and after resisting treatment for a few weeks, you gave in. You started taking the anti-psychotics, and you started attending therapy with Dr. Daryl Nolan. You also met a woman named Lydia. You didn't tell me much about her. You told me she was German, and she was hot, and she was married. Apparently you slept together, and you didn't work out. Dr. Nolan decided that you were ready to be let out after this, because you came directly to him after it happened to talk, instead of self destructing."

"You were released from Mayfield, and you moved in with me. It was... difficult at times, but you were my best friend. Living with you was an interesting experience. At first when you were released, you thought that going back to working at PPTH was the worst thing you could possibly do, but you were practically dying of boredom. It was either go back to work, or go back to vicodin. You went back to work. You did your job. You saved lives."

"You obviously had to put your team back together once you got back. You convinced Chase to rejoin, he had been in surgery since you fired him. Taub, Foreman, and Thirteen came back. Cameron, however, left Chase, you and the hospital. She thought you had corrupted Chase beyond repair."

"Your one goal was to be happy. And you decided that to be happy, you needed Cuddy. You had always had feelings for her, but you were finally starting to act on them. Unfortunately, while you were in Mayfield, she started seeing your only other friend, Lucas Douglas, a private eye."

"You honestly had changed... but things started going down hill. I kicked you out of the apartment," He said, a note of regret in his voice. He still felt bad about booting House out while he was still recovering. That could have driven him off the deep end if it hadn't been for Cuddy. "because I started seeing one of my ex wives, Sam Carr. You refused to see Dr. Nolan anymore, saying his sessions didn't help. Cuddy and Lucas moved in together... and got engaged. The night you found out, you also lost a patient."

"You were in your bathroom, a bottle of vicodin in your hand when Cuddy found you. You hadn't taken it yet. She told you that she loved you, and... you started dating. You were happy."

"You had your issues. Balancing a romantic relationship with a working relationship was difficult, her mother was kind of recurring disaster, and her three year old daughter Rachel... well, that took some adjusting. But for awhile, you were happy. You were together for nine or ten months I think before you broke up." Wilson sucked in a long breath. He seemed to be talking faster now. The words were flying out of his mouth.

"She broke up with you because you came to her kidney surgery stoned. You were back on vicodin. She left you. You went on a hooker, booze, and drug filled rampage, and jumped out a fifteenth story window. Oh, and you got fake married to an Ukrainian immigrant named Dominica Petrova so she could get her green card."

"It get's worse, in case you're wondering. Just recently, you started taking experimental drugs that are supposed to regenerate muscle. You stole them from the research lab in the hospital. It helped at first, you weren't feeling any pain. Then you went into the lab one day to steal more and check on the rats... they were all dead. Riddled with tumors."

"You did an MRI on yourself. You had three tumors on your thigh muscle." He gritted his teeth. "You tried to perform surgery on yourself to removed them in your bathtub. You managed to get one out before the pain was so bad you couldn't take it. You called everyone, but no one was available... except Cuddy."

"Cuddy, at two o'clock in the morning, drove to your House, picked you up, and drove you to the hospital with Rachel. You went into surgery, with Cuddy watching over you upon your request, and got the remaining tumors removed. Two days after the surgery, you discharged yourself before you were ready. You were riding home on your motorcycle when... you were hit. A semi crashed into you on an intersection downtown. You were brought into the ER, barely alive. You-" He motioned to House's injuries, which the diagnostician seemed to be completely oblivious to. "got banged up pretty bad. On top of your old brain injury and the new one, you've been in a coma the past month. It appears you've lost all your long term memory. We're going to figure out how bad the damage is to the rest of your brain." Wilson racked his brain, but he was fairly sure he wasn't forgetting anything.

His eyes briefly darted to the clock. An hour had passed since he entered House's room. Dr. Hennessy was still sitting silently in the corner, marking things down on her notepad. Knowing that she had heard the whole story bothered him. The old House was a very private man. He wouldn't want complete strangers knowing this. His eyes were no longer on his hands, but back to being focused on House's blue eyes, which were still focused intently on Wilson. Was he going to say anything?

"So... um. That's it. You've just woken up from your coma. It's June 15th, 2011." Another long pause, and still no response from House. Wilson leaned forward slightly in his seat.

"Do you understand me, House?"

House opened his mouth slightly, then closed it. After a moment of deliberation, he spoke.

"It sounds like I was an ass."


	7. Anatomy of Apathy

**Chapter 7: Anatomy of Apathy**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD. All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production company.**

* * *

Wilson stared blankly at House. He realized too late that his mouth had been hanging open. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought that comment had come directly from the old House. But, of course, the unusual sound of his voice coupled with the fact that House was about as prone to admitting to his own short comings as he was to reading to the blind, reminded Wilson of the situation at hand. Wilson quickly closed his mouth.

"You..." Once again Wilson found himself debating whether to soften the truth. _Everybody lies. _A sardonic voice said in the back of his mind that sounded eerily like House. _No. I won't lie to him. He wouldn't lie to me! Not about this, anyway. _He reminded himself once more. "Yeah. You were an ass." He said in a low voice. "But you were more than that."

"It doesn't sound like it." House commented, his eyes looking distant. He was now aware of the scrabbling of Dr. Hennessy's pen, and glanced in her direction. Her brows were furrowed as she read over what she had just written. He wondered what the young psychologist would have to say when they exited House's room.

"House, you have to understand... like I said before, you were a genius. Absolutely brilliant. You were the best doctor in this hospital. You could solve cases that no one else could solve, you could see connections where other people just saw blank space. Your mind had a knack for solving impossible puzzles and enigmas."

"And your brain wasn't the only thing that was good about you. You were witty and sarcastic, and you always managed to make me laugh, at least. You weren't a... _terrible _friend. We had a lot of good times, and you were generally fun to be around. You were spontaneous, I've known you for twenty years and you still have the ability to surprise me." Wilson realized after this that he had unfortunately run out of nice things to say about House. _Some friend I am._ He thought, loathing himself in that moment, but continuing none the less.

"But, yeah... you were an ass. You mocked everyone. Co-workers, friends, anyone who didn't live up to your twisted idea of integrity. You were arrogant, and had a superiority complex that made you treat almost everyone around you like their lives weren't even worth living. You were brutally honest, the idea of handing someone a comforting lie, or letting them take solace in their beliefs... you'd find that appalling. You were always on your own obsessive, never-ending quest for the truth, yet ironically when you found the truth hitting you over the head you blatantly ignored it. You were the _champion _of not dealing with your problems. You weren't an emotional man by any means. That's not to say you didn't have a temper, because you did. You weren't easy to get a rise out of, exactly, but you were very easily irritated or annoyed."

"You hated people, but you still found human behavior interesting. You were a self-proclaimed misanthrope. You could care less about them. You didn't become a doctor to treat patients, you became a doctor to treat illnesses." Wilson paused, raking his eyes over his friend. "According to you, treating patients is what makes most doctors miserable. I don't know if it's what made you miserable. Because you _were_ miserable. I don't know if it was the chronic drug addiction, the alcoholism, the narcissism, the loneliness, your past, your self-loathing, your atheism, or your habit of explosive self-destruction. Despite thinking you were God compared to the common man, you still hated yourself. Every time something went wrong, you just threw the whole world to hell and broke down. You would never come to anyone for help, though. Your instinct to preserve what you considered to be pride came before your instinct of self-preservation."

"You had periods where it almost seemed as though you could change, stop hating life, stop being miserable... branch out to other people even. Because Cuddy and I were the only ones that would ever put up with your crap and stick by you. But every time it seemed like things were getting better, something would go wrong and you'd be straight back to square one, and I'd be there to pick up the pieces, like always..."

"So, you weren't perfect by any means. But I still don't believe you were a bad person, House. Somewhere inside of you, you cared about people. I even believe that you cared about me. And..." He sucked in a small breath. "I'm really glad that you're awake." He added, somewhat lamely in his opinion. Wilson ran a hand through his hair, blinking his eyes blearily after a peek at the clock. It was four in the morning, Wilson realized.

"So... I'm a genius doctor, but I'm also a self-destructive, egotistical idiot who is pretty much doomed to being miserable and alone because I hate people." House speaking immediately jerked Wilson's eyes back to his friend. "Maybe it would have been better if I hadn't woken up, or one of my other near death experiences had managed to kill me."

House jumped in surprise when Wilson quickly seized his hand.

"Don't say that, House. Just don't. You have people who care about you. I don't know what I would do if I lost you." He commanded, hoping that this House would at least listen to him, unlike the old House. House tilted his head slightly, looking quizzically at Wilson.

"Why do you keep calling me by my last name?" House asked as he shakily lifted his arm to run a half open hand over his face.

"Oh. The day we met... when I asked you what your name was, you just said 'House'... so, even though it's your surname, I've just always called you that. You've always called me Wilson." House raised an eyebrow at this as Wilson removed his hand from his friend's.

"Seems kind of impersonal for best friends." He commented nonchalantly. Wilson shrugged, unsure of how to respond. He looked to Dr. Hennessy now, whose eyes were no longer glued to her notepad, but instead glued to House. "Where do we go from here, doctor?" He asked her. Her grayish green eyes jumped to Wilson, and Wilson had to admit, the young doctor was pretty.

"I'll need to talk to him for a moment." She stood up. "Obviously, he has no secrets to hide, so you can stay for this. If you're comfortable with that, Dr. House." She added to House, who nodded after briefly glancing at Wilson and seeming to deem him worthy of staying. He wondered briefly what his best friend's first impression of him was.

Dr. Hennessy trotted towards House.

"Alright, Dr. House, we need to see how bad the rest of your brain has been damaged. Now, you're speaking perfectly fine, so that's one worry off the table. Your psychical therapist will be in soon enough to worry about your motor function, but what I want to focus on is short term memory, procedural memory, and emotional memory. Now," She paused, "I'm going to ask you a few questions."

"First, I need you to remember this number for me. Five-hundred and eleven. I'll ask you what number I told you to remember in a few minutes."

"I think my short term memory is fine. I remember everything he just told me." House protested, waving a hand at Wilson.

"Well, it is a process." She answered. "Alright, Dr. House, when Dr. Wilson was telling you about yourself and your life, did anything feel familiar? Like it's within your reach, but you simply can't remember?" She asked. House stared at her as Wilson hitched in a breath.

"No. It doesn't seem familiar at all..." House trailed off, his brow furrowing with concentration. Wilson's heart dropped. If House didn't even find any of this familiar, didn't find _him_ familiar, was there really any hope for him waking up?

"Are you sure?" She asked. House nodded, closing his eyes for a long moment. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"Waking up here, with him sitting next to me." House said, jerking his head towards Wilson. _Why doesn't he just say my name? _Wilson wondered. "Wait." House said as Dr. Hennessy went to write a note in her pad. It seemed that he spoke more loudly than he intended, since he immediately dropped his voice with a look of mild embarrassment.

"I think it was just a dream, but... I remember sitting on an empty white bus. With a young woman. That's the only thing I remember other than what's just happened." He explained, a note of frustration in his voice. _A bus? It couldn't be..._

"What did the woman look like?" Wilson asked quickly. House closed his eyes, no doubt trying to visualize his 'dream'...

"Honey blond hair," _Could be Cameron... _"blue eyes," _Still could be Cameron..._ Wilson didn't know why he was desperately hoping not to hear her name come out of House's mouth... "she was tall, almost my height. And she had on a red scarf."

Wilson choked back a sob, and was surprised to find his eyes wet. House did remember something. Or someone.

House remembered Amber.

"That's the woman I told you about. Amber, the one who tried for a place on your team and I dated for several months." He paused, his voice sounding distant and nothing like his own. "She's the one whose dead."

House's eyes went wide, and Wilson was stunned to see genuine concern in them. The diagnostician averted his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He muttered quietly, no doubt seeing the fresh pain in Wilson's eyes. Wilson did a double take. _House... just said... sorry?_

Wilson could think of perhaps two times in the entirety of his friendship with the older doctor where House said he was sorry for _anything. _He had never said it as a comforting word, that's for damn sure.

"It's okay, House. But... it's a good thing. You remember something. Maybe that means you can get your memory back at some point." He didn't know who he was giving more false hope, himself or House. House simply nodded. Dr. Hennessy glanced between the two men, looking puzzled, but then continued on.

"Dr. House, do you feel any tangible emotion when you think about the blond woman, or Dr. Wilson? I'll be asking you again when you meet the other people waiting for you. We need to see if you still have the same feelings and emotions towards people as you did before, even if the memories are gone."

House bit his lip lightly, and his eyes darted up to meet Wilson's. House looked at Wilson for a long time. It seemed like the moment froze, and the rest of the room seemed to melt away. No longer were they in a bleak hospital room, with the thrumming of the heart monitor in the background and the light scratching of Dr. Hennessy's pen, but instead a blank space that consisted only of the two men. Wilson was hoping beyond hope that one of two things would happen. One, he would wake up from this nightmare and it would turn out that the accident and the past month had just been some horrible dream, or two, House would look at him and say, "April fools, I remember everything!" Just staring into the clear depths of House's eyes, he still saw the brilliant and vibrant man who had lived there before. However, now there was also a palpable air of confusion in them, and a slightly lost look that caused a pang in Wilson's chest. He waited for House to speak.

"I... I feel like I can trust you. Like you won't hurt me." House said in his new, strange voice. The statement came with a nearly undetectable note of fear, and sounded almost as if a child had said it. "And the blond woman, Amber... I feel... guilty."

Wilson quickly had to stem a tear with his hand, not wanting to look weak in front of Dr. Hennessy. House's emotional memories were faint, perhaps, and the only reason House might feel as though he could trust Wilson was because Wilson had told him who he was, but he liked to hope that buried deep within, House still was his best friend.

Along with it came the very faint hope that maybe someday, things would return to normal.

"That's a good sign, Dr. House. Your amygdala isn't as damaged as it usually is in cases of severe amnesia. Now," She looked at the whiteboard and narrowed her eyes at it. "Dr. Wilson, does Dr. House's old team conduct differentials in here?" She asked.

"Yes. They thought maybe House would be able to hear them, even if he was in a coma."

"That does happen in some coma cases. It's actually convenient it's here. We can see how well Dr. House's information sorting and storing faculties are." She turned back to House. "Can you read the words on that board?" She asked. House nodded.

"'Janice Carmichael. Lower-limb paralysis, late onset epilepsy, and blindness.'" House read. Wilson let out a sigh of relief. Learning to read again would have been a difficult hurdle, and not to mention it was a good sign that House's mind had still retained much of it's knowledge. "'MS, SMA, SDD, TM, Von Hippel-Lindau's.'" House continued reading. House's eyes flashed with irritation, his forehead crinkling.

"Von Hippel-Lindau's doesn't make any sense." He muttered, and Wilson jumped in surprise, and so too did Dr. Hennessy.

"Wha- what?" Wilson fumbled over his words as House leaned forward slightly in his bed.

"Von Hippel-Lindau's. It doesn't make sense. If they're testing for MS that means her RBC count must be low, or they wouldn't even consider it because blindness is rare in MS cases. Von Hippel-Lindau's always presents with high RBC." House elaborated. He seemed surprised the words came out of his mouth. "How do I know that?" Wilson didn't know if he was asking himself or not. Wilson looked at Dr. Hennessy.

"How _does_ he know that? He has no memory left, how does he remember his medical training?" Wilson asked, shocked. Dr. Hennessy was staring intensely at House, her pen in her mouth.

"Curious." She murmured. "This is almost unheard of."

"Care to share with the class?" Wilson asked.

"Well, in some very rare cases, a person can retain almost all of their general and procedural knowledge, despite having no memory. In case studies," she explained as she jammed her pen back into her notebook. "it appears that how much knowledge an amnesiac's brain retains is almost directly proportional to their IQ. The higher the patient in question's IQ, the more information they remember. You see, it's likely that because of Dr. House's intelligence, he committed information very easily to memory. When you first learn something, it's processed by your hippocampus, but the more times that knowledge is reiterated or revisited, it slowly becomes part of your general knowledge, which is held in your pre-frontal lobe, an area of his brain which was clearly undamaged. It seems Dr. House's general knowledge and medical knowledge are one in the same." She looked at House with a mixture of awe and interest. "It's really quite remarkable."

"Does this mean he could still practice medicine?" Wilson asked, standing up out of his chair, although not really meaning too.

"Well, you would have to take it up with the licensing board and Dr. Cuddy... it's a possibility. We still have to check his procedural memory before you can hope for that, though. If he can't perform medical tests..." Dr. Hennessy drifted off, before diving into more questions. "Dr. House, how do you perform an lumbar puncture?"

House considered this for a moment before answering. "You palpate the fourteenth vertebrae, and then inject lidocaine to numb the area. Following that you insert a needle about the length of my hand, making sure it doesn't nick the spinal cord, because that could cause paralysis. You remove a sample of the spinal fluid by pulling back on the plunger, and then carefully remove the needle. It's not a difficult process." House commented. "They would have had to do it to check for MS." House said as he waved at the whiteboard.

Wilson looked hopefully at Dr. Hennessy. She smiled weakly.

"Once again, if you take it up with Dr. Cuddy and the licensing board after he's all healed up, and have a convincing enough case, who knows? But," She said, her smile and voice dropping. "keep in mind Dr. Wilson, one of the things that makes good doctors is experience. Although Dr. House had all his medical knowledge, he's essentially at the level of a first year resident. No experience whatsoever." Wilson laughed quietly.

"Well, Dr. Hennessy, in all honesty I would rather have a first year resident House treat me than another doctor who'd been practicing for twenty years." Dr. Hennessy's lip twitched with amusement.

"So, what's the final verdict on his mental health?" Wilson asked, feeling much more upbeat now.

"Well, only time will tell fully, but in all honesty, he's in the best shape he could be considering the circumstances. The fact that he's awake at all with how he got bludgeoned..." She trailed off, then met Wilson's eyes. "Dr. Wilson, are you a religious man?" Wilson shrugged, surprised by the oddly personal question.

"I... I'm Jewish. But I don't practice or keep Kosher." Wilson now noticed the silver cross necklace dangling slightly below Dr. Hennessy's neck.

"I try not to impress religion upon any of my patients, but this seems undeniably like divine intervention. The very fact that Dr. House _survived _the accident was a miracle in itself. And the fact that he's up, talking, and his mind is very much in tact... I haven't been a psychologist for very long, Dr. Wilson, but this is truly amazing."

Wilson doubted very much that if there was a God that he would be looking out for Gregory House, but all of this did seem slightly astounding to Wilson. _House _should _be dead. _Wilson thought suddenly. He suddenly found a rush of gratefulness to _something _for the fact that House was alive and functioning, even though his memories and life were forgotten. _We'll build new memories if we have to._

He realized he hadn't asked two of the most important questions that needed asking.

"Dr. Hennessy, if his hippocampus was damaged badly enough to cause him to lose all his permanent memory, whose to say he won't be able to hold memories at all, forgetting everything every few hours?" Wilson asked, a slightly shaky note creeping into his voice.

"The brain is a complex thing. Generally when damage is done to certain areas of the brain, it self-corrects itself, building new neural pathways to substitute for those that have been damaged. Dr. House's long term memory should be fine from this point forward, because during the past month his brain has been finding new ways to work around the damaged area in his brain." Wilson nodded, glad to hear that telling House his life story wasn't a complete and utter waste of time.

"You sound like a neurologist." Wilson commented. Dr. Hennessy gave him a lazy half smile.

"I am. Double specialty." Wilson returned her smile slightly, then cleared his throat and pressed on.

"What are the chances his memory will return?"

"Well... we'll need to do an MRI soon, but generally amnesia is a tricky thing to gauge. It's safe to say that if an amnesiac doesn't regain their memory within in two weeks of receiving the brain injury, it's generally safe to say it won't return period..." She stopped their, a look of deep sorrow coming upon her face that surprised Wilson.

However, Wilson was stopped dead in his thoughts of the young psychologist.

It had been a month since House's accident.


	8. Reunion

**Chapter 8: Reunion**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD! All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company.**

Cuddy was reminded heavily of the night of House's accident as she paced impatiently in the ICU waiting room. Endless waiting, every movement causing her head to jerk up, hoping to see Wilson or one of House's doctors, hoping to hear some word while at the same time dreading it. The only thought filling her head was that she wanted, no, _needed _to keep moving. Like a shark hunting through the water, it seemed her whole life depended on the ceaseless clacking of her heels against linoleum.

Her head buzzed with all the things she had wanted to say to House the moment he woke up, all of which had been rendered meaningless now. What significance would it hold to profess her love for a man who didn't even know her name, or who she was?

Noticing the annoyed glances she was receiving from House's team, she decided to cease her constant movement and instead proceeded to lean against the wall. She held still for about fifteen seconds before her hand was reaching for the pocket of her khaki's. She took out the wrinkled, burnt, and ripped piece of paper that had resided their for the past month. With both affection and pain she read over the crayoned words.

_"...I hope we can be friends again soon..."_

She had been surprised to find this in the pocket of House's infamous leather jacket the day after the accident. She generally wrote House off as an unfeeling, uncaring jackass, but sometimes if you squinted you could see displays of humanity from him, though it was rare.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by footsteps, and once again she found herself looking up hopefully, and this time she was not disappointed. Wilson's tired form was walking towards her, seeming marginally less frantic than he had been earlier. _Good news?_

All eyes in the room immediately went to Wilson as he stopped near the entrance to the ICU waiting room. He ran a hand through his unkempt brown hair and took a deep breath before addressing the group.

"Well... I have good news, better news, and bad news." He began, and Cuddy caught her breath. So for the most part, this _was_ good news. She waited for Wilson to continue. "The good news, House's mind is functioning and working properly. Dr. Hennessy is of the opinion his brain has formed new neural pathways, so his capacity to hold long term memory has returned, despite the dead matter that held his old memories. Just in case, they'll have him on pysostygmine for the next few weeks. His procedural memory, general knowledge- it's all fine. He can read and speak as well as ever. So that's the good news." He stated, and Cuddy felt her heart leap. Could anything be better than House functioning almost perfectly? "The better news..." Wilson smiled in spite of himself. "Because of House being a genius, his brain committed information to his pre-frontal lobe much easier than a regular person. He remembers _all of his medical training._" Wilson emphasized, his smile widening.

Everyone in the room stared at Wilson in shock.

"I can't believe that's even _possible_!" Thirteen proclaimed from between Chase and Foreman.

"It is. House actually criticized your ideas on the board." He informed her, and she let out an amused snort.

"It sounds like he's completely himself..." Cuddy said dubiously, almost not being able to believe that House was in this good of shape. Wilson's expression sobered significantly.

"There's... still bad news. It's likely House will never get his memory back." Wilson said, blinking slowly and once again running a hand through his hair.

Cuddy sank to the base of the wall. This had been nothing more than she expected, considering the severity of House's brain injury. But the fact that House would never remember who she was, or she had been to him, or how he had _loved_ her... well, she hoped he had loved her. She looked up at Wilson, trying to restrain tears that were threatening to flow from the corner of her eyes.

"Has Dr. Harmon been into see him? How's his motor function?" She asked in a small voice. Wilson's brown eyes flashed with pain at this. _Oh no._

"Dr. Harmon just checked him over. They've checked feeling in his whole body, and movement in his arm that isn't completely in a cast. He can't lift his arm above his chest, and he can't clench his fist. He'll need psychical therapy. Dr. Harmon says with his luck he'll regain full use of his hand in six to eight weeks..." Wilson pursed his lips now, and Cuddy knew he had more to say.

She just wasn't sure if she wanted to hear more.

Wilson's head lowered, and his eyes were no longer meeting hers.

"He's completely paralyzed from the waist down."

**xxxxxx**

House laid in his bed, awaiting his next visitor. Wilson had told him that the next person to see him would be Cuddy, his boss and his ex-girlfriend. He wondered what the woman looked like. He imagined her to be beautiful, but couldn't quite place exactly what he expected her to look like. He wished Wilson would have described how each of the people in his life had looked. He only knew what Wilson looked like (obviously) and the blond woman, Amber.

His mind flashed with the image of Wilson and his reaction when House described his dream. The tangible pain and loss in the man's eyes. House had only known Wilson for about three hours, but he felt deeply sorry for him. And once again, their was the inexplicable guilt that panged in House's heart whenever he thought of the blond woman. Why? Wilson had told him the story. Her kidneys had failed because of amantadine poisoning. House hadn't wanted Amber to pick him up, he hadn't asked her on the bus, so why did he feel solely responsible for her death?

House doubted he had felt guilty before his accident. The way Wilson had described him... even his best friend had a short list of positive qualities about him. It sounded as if he had continually screwed over the other man repeatedly, yet Wilson had dutifully stayed and been there for House whenever things went wrong.

_It's probably a good thing I can't remember who I was. _House thought dismally, shifting under the uncomfortable hospital covers. Every part of his body screamed in pain as he moved, and he resisted the urge to clutch at his ribs. At least his leg wasn't hurting, like it had always been in the past apparently. Wilson had looked on the verge of tears when he and the other doctor, Dr. Harmon, had told him he was paralyzed from the waist down. But if House's leg had made him such and insufferable ass, wouldn't it be a good thing that it was no longer able to pain him?

House let out a long breath through his nose. For some reason, he did not like being alone. He was slightly frightened, though he didn't know why. There were no dangers in his little hospital room, nothing to worry him. I mean, he didn't remember anything, so how could there be anything to worry about?

He closed his eyes, trying to air out his confused mind. He just wished he could _remember_. Yes, maybe the world had lost an uncaring jackass, and it all was just a great success for the universe, but he hated having no sense of identity. He was working very hard to associate 'House' as being his name. Whenever someone called him that, it took him a long moment in his tired mind to realize they were referring to him.

The constant haze in his mind was another annoyance. It was obviously due to the ridiculous amount of morphine they had him on. He suspected that being the hospital administrator, perhaps this Cuddy woman had overstepped the usual protocols and given him an extra high dose, just to keep him in as little as pain as possible. House had quickly lowered the number on the monitor dramatically the minute that Dr. Hennessy, Dr. Harmon, and Wilson had left the room. He hoped no one would notice. He was hoping that without the fog of painkillers, he would be able to make some sense of what was happening.

Just as he was considering taking out his morphine IV, the door to his room opened, revealing...

Well, House's first thought was _angel_, but he quickly decided that was much too cheesy, and not nearly a title worthy of the woman who had just stepped in front of his hospital bed.

She was rather short, but had a strength that radiated from her, letting everyone around her know that she was not to be trifled with. House was able to discern that she was used to authority, and commanded respect for the grace with which she held her post.

She had deep brown, almost black hair that curled by itself around her face, falling at her shoulders in cascading shining waves. He realized that she looked rather disheveled, and he wondered how beautiful she must have been on a regular basis if at five in the morning she could look this gorgeous.

She had light blue eyes that spoke of tiredness and anxiety, but also of relief as the blue orbs met his own. She had defined features, high cheek bones and looked to be of Jewish decent. Her nose was pronounced but not overly large, and her lips looked soft and slight, a faint pinkish color that he guessed was typically covered by lipstick.

Her face wasn't the only beautiful thing about her. She was voluptuous to say the least. Perky breasts, round hips, and a perfectly shaped rear completed with an athletic build and not a hint of fat finished the package for him. She simply defined beauty.

Could _this_ be Doctor Cuddy?

House didn't know what he looked like yet, but if he had gotten a woman like that, he must have been pretty damn good looking, because he certainly didn't win any personality competitions.

"House?" She asked, a note of desperation in her voice. House simply continued to stare at the woman, taking in every inch of her. He felt his face go hot.

"Uh... are you Cuddy?" He asked, trying to make his voice sound less shaky. Suddenly House found himself staring into her dark curls. She had thrown her arms around him, and he wasn't sure what to do. Hesitantly, he returned her embrace, rubbing her back lightly, confused at the sudden display of affection. According to Wilson, hadn't they broken up?

"Yes, I'm Lisa Cuddy." She murmured as she pulled back, thin tears streaming down her face. Even in this weakened emotional state, she still seemed tough. The way her jaw was set as she stroked a hand through his hair, as if to say, "I _dare_ you to leave me again."

"Wilson told me about you." He said, which he realized as soon as it came out of his mouth sounded lame. "That you're... uh, my friend." _Stupid! _Cuddy gave him a sad smile as she withdrew from him and sat at his bedside chair. His eyes didn't leave hers once.

"Well..." It looked like it was story time again. "We were. For a long time. We were friends... until we weren't. Did Wilson explain to you-"

"That we dated? Yeah." House said quickly. A little too quickly, he noted. He subconsciously lifted a hand to flatten his hair, but then winced with pain and dropped his hand. Right. He couldn't lift his arm all the way.

Cuddy must have seen the flash or irritation in his eyes, because she seized his hand.

"House... I just want you to know... I'm really happy you're awake. I missed you." She didn't seem to be able to properly phrase her feelings, and House understood in a way. How do you talk to someone who used to be your lover, and now doesn't even know you? House expected that people would be treating him as if he were a fragile China doll for a long time.

House was stumped on how to respond, because the words that seemed to want to burst forth from his mouth were "I missed you too." but of course that would not only sound ridiculous but it would also be completely false, as he had just met her. Instead, he asked the next question on his mind.

"Can I see what I look like?" Cuddy seemed blindsided by this question. She blinked at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. House thought it was adorable. Within a moment, Cuddy regained her composure and shook her head at herself.

"Of course, of course. Here," She pulled a small make-up mirror out of her pocket. "you can see what you look like." She told him as she handed it to him. With his good arm, he took it from her and carefully pried open the small object, staring into the small reflective surface.

An old man looked back at him. _Well, Wilson did say I was fifty. _House reminded himself as he took in his appearance. He had messy brown-gray hair, and a thin beard that could be written off as stubble. He had a long face, and he had deep furrows in his forehead. He had a prominent brow and thin eyebrows, giving him a look of concentration. He noticed the most prominent feature of his face was undoubtedly his eyes. They were a piercing, vibrant blue. House knew in that moment that hiding his emotions would be very difficult with eyes like these, because his eyes read back exactly how he was feeling. Curious, but lost and confused.

A large scar marred the right side of his face. It led from halfway down his forehead to his jaw line, leaving a patch in his beard and eyebrow. He also had a small bald patch on the side of his head that had a two scars, one he assumed was from the bus accident Wilson had told him about and another from the accident that caused him to lose his memory. Finally, he noticed a small scar the size of his thumbnail on his neck. _From when I was shot? _House wondered to himself.

He wasn't bad looking, he decided. For a man who had seemingly gone through hell and back, anyway. He still didn't see how the woman sitting next to him would have found him attractive when she could no doubt get men much better looking, nicer, and psychically sound.

He tore his eyes off of himself and they were back on Cuddy. She was looking at him with a look of utmost worry. He needed to say something to her, he realized.

"It's alright." He offered. "I'm fine. You don't have to worry." He was hoping to reassure her, but instead fresh tears came brimming out of her eyes. _What did I say?_ He thought frantically as Cuddy removed her hand from his.

"I'll- I'll be back later." She choked out. "I'll send in your team." She told him as she hurried out of the room, leaving House alone once again.

**xxxxxx**

Cuddy emerged out of House's room much faster than Thirteen expected. She had assumed that her and the rest of the team would be waiting until sunrise to see their old boss, but Cuddy was only in the room for about five minutes, before coming out in tears and altogether looking a mess. _Did House say something so awful he made her cry?_ She immediately disregarded this thought, however, because although that was something the old House would have done, this was _not_ the old House.

Wilson rushed by her, coming to Cuddy's side quickly, whispering what she assumed to be the question that was on her own mind. She saw Wilson's mouth move, distinctly saying, "What's wrong?"

Cuddy jerked her head back to the ICU waiting room, and her and Wilson headed away from House's room and down the corridor. Wilson called over his shoulder at them.

"You guys can go in now. Just don't overwhelm him." The four of them nodded in unison, then looked at each other questioningly. Taub was the first to speak.

"We probably shouldn't all go in together, so... you two," He waved at Chase and herself. "can go in first."

Although Taub didn't say it, it was obvious what he meant. Thirteen and Chase were closer to House than Taub and Foreman, and he was indicating that gave them the right to enter first. Foreman nodded in agreement, and Thirteen glanced sideways and met Chase's pale blue eyes.

"Shall we, then?" He asked as he motioned towards the door. Thirteen nodded weakly and followed the older doctor. Grasping the handle slowly, Chase and Thirteen entered the room to see their boss awake for the first time in a month.

**xxxxxx**

"Lisa, what the hell is wrong?" Wilson couldn't help but be astounded at how Cuddy had lost it. Once they had reached the deserted ICU lounge, she had collapsed into his arms, sobbing, something she hadn't even done when House had first had his accident.

"He's... he's..." She didn't seem to be able to get the words out of her mouth. Wilson tightened the embrace, trying desperately to let her know that he was _here_, and the whole world was not falling apart like she seemed to think. "Oh, Wilson, he's not _House_." She croaked, burying her face in his shoulder.

"What did he do?" Wilson asked, his stomach clenching. What could House have possibly done to put Cuddy in this state?

"He... Wilson, he wasn't House... he was _nice_."

**xxxxxx**

Considering what he had been through, House seemed to be in surprisingly good shape.

As Chase entered the room, he seemed to snap House out of his thoughts, because he jerked his head up to find Chase and Thirteen standing at the foot of his bed.

Chase could not help but feel slightly elated as House's blue eyes combed him over. Just seeing House's eyes open, seeing House awake, it was a very nice change from the vegetable whose bedside he had sat at for the past month.

"Hello, House." He greeted him with a smile, something he would have never done before House's accident.

"Hi." House said quietly, and Chase noticed the diagnostician's voice had dropped somewhat, not as loud and rough as it had been before.

"I'm Robert Chase, and this is Remy Hadley." Chase said as he placed a hand on the safety rail at the bottom of House's bed. "We worked for you. Me, for about eight years, Thirteen for four." House's brow furrowed in confusion. Wilson must have not told House Thirteen's typical moniker, favoring her first name, which the oncologist alone used.

"Do you want to explain?" He asked Thirteen in a low voice. She nodded, moving around the side of the bed so she was only about a foot away from House. Their eyes met.

"House, when you met me four years ago, I wouldn't tell you anything about myself. I was a mystery. You had given all the contestants in your hiring game numbers, I was number thirteen. The name just stuck after the game was over when you hired me. You also found it fitting, because I have Huntington's. If what Wilson told me was accurate, you know what Huntington's is." House nodded at Thirteen's explanation, and Chase was shocked to see pity in House's eyes, something so blatantly unfamiliar to be seen there.

"Degenerative neurological disease. It cuts your life span in half, you end up losing control of both your body and mind, and there's no cure." House said in a monotone. "I'm sorry."

Chase did all he could not to clutch his chest and simply die of shock. House had said _sorry_?

"It's okay, House." Thirteen smiled. Chase was not sure where to go from there.

"Are their any questions you have about your life? Do you want us to tell you more about your job?" Chase offered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. House nodded, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. House was about to open his mouth when his good hand flew to his throat.

"House?" Thirteen asked, looking upset and stepping closer to House. She put a hand on his shoulder as he made loud squelching sounds. "What's wrong?"

"I- I-" House couldn't finished his sentence as he projectile puked out of his mouth all over the hospital linens.

Chase was horrified to see that it wasn't vomit that House had coughed up.

It was blood.

* * *

**A/N: AND COMMERCIAL!**


	9. Tensions

**Chapter 9: Tensions**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD! All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company **

* * *

"Foreman," Wilson sighed angrily. "I honestly _do not give half a damn_ about whether you think it's a good idea or not. You're the best group of doctors in the state, never mind the hospital, and you're going to treat House whether you like it or not."

Everyone was unaccustomed to hearing the typically docile Wilson speak to anyone like that. Thirteen blinked, taking in the scene in front of her. Wilson, fists clenched, standing roughly six inches away from Foreman, who looked positively livid. Cuddy standing near Wilson to show whose side she was on, but still looking apprehensive. Taub, an impassive bystander taking in the situation from the door to Cuddy's office, which was where the little stand off was taking place. Then there was her and Chase, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, watching with a mixture of horror and interest at the display going in front of them.

"You remember what happened the last time we treated people we all knew?" The words were barbed with acid, and you could see the visible hurt in Wilson's face as he no doubt thought of Amber.

"You son of a bitch, don't you _dare_ bring Amber into this." Cuddy took a step closer to Wilson now, as if preparing to restrain Wilson if he attacked Foreman. Chase tensed beside her, seemingly ready to spring in between the two men if needs be.

"Collins is his attending, she should be the one to treat him! And if you desperately want a diagnostics department to look at him, then pass him off to the team down in Atlanta, don't burden us with him!" Foreman protested.

"'_Burden us with him'_!" Wilson repeated incredulously. "You've worked with the man for eight years and you act like he's just a sack of flesh!" Wilson's face was red with rage and his voice ripe with accusation.

"I just don't want to risk the life of our _actual_ patient by trying to juggle two cases at once! We don't operate that way, we never have." Foreman countered. "House is sick, it sucks. But we're not the only doctors in the world, and once again your objectivity is ruined because-"

"Oh, will you drop that objectivity bullshit?" Wilson asked, throwing his hands up in the air. "Sometimes knowing a patient clouds judgment, but when it comes to my best friend I'd rather have people who are actually motivated to save him take care of him! Of course, it's seeming like you don't really fall into that category, so maybe you should just get the hell out of here." Another few inches closer. Wilson and Foreman were quite literally toe to toe, and eye to eye, due to the fact the two men were both the same height.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a cold bastard, we get it." Foreman growled. "But I'm the cold bastard that you _know_ is right."

"Yeah, I'm standing here having a shouting match with you because I agree whole-heartedly with your opinion." Wilson spat back sarcastically. Thirteen wasn't sure what to think of this angry Wilson. It was surreal. She had almost never seen any hint of anger in the oncologist... sadness at times, yes, but never anger. Was House's life being dropped back into the firing line after just getting out driving him into this rage?

"Wilson, I've worked with you for eight years, and I'd like to think I know you well enough to know that you can't really think this is a good idea." Foreman said, lowering his voice, apparently trying to calm the situation. However, Wilson's eyes flared, and it seemed Foreman had done absolutely nothing to appease him.

"If you think for one second I'd just pass off my best friend to someone who I didn't think was completely capable of curing him, then you don't know me at all." His voice too had dropped, but not into the calming tones Foreman had adopted, but into venom laced contempt.

"Wilson, this decision could _kill him_! You know we'll be less likely to take risks knowing who we're treating!" Foreman shouted.

"Well, since you're a soulless emotional robot, then this should be the perfect case for you!" Shouted Wilson back.

"Just because you're best friend is dying doesn't mean you have the right to insult me! Get a hold of yourself! He doesn't even _know who you are_, and you're risking his life by trying to force-" Thirteen was tempted to plug her ears, the two men were yelling so loudly. None of them seemed to know what to say. Normally Cuddy would have stepped in long ago, but the emotional stress on top of the fact that she was probably so shocked by Wilson's behavior seemed to have rendered speechless.

"Don't have the right? Oh, I can think of something I've got the right to do." Wilson gritted his teeth, and before anyone could stop him or really knew what was happening, Foreman was on the ground, clutching his nose.

"WILSON!" Cuddy shouted, jumping forward. Wilson was now on top of Foreman, socking him repeatedly in the face. Foreman was yelling inaudibly. He landed a well aimed punch to Wilson's stomach, and the older man fell away for a moment. Before he could lunge at Foreman again, Chase rushed and grabbed one of his arms, while Taub grabbed the other. Thirteen raced over to Taub's side, knowing the small doctor would need help restraining the signifgantly larger man. Hooking onto Wilson's elbow, Thirteen restrained Wilson with all her might. He was resisting them like a feral animal.

Cuddy carefully placed herself directly between the two men when it looked like Foreman might decide to retaliate. Fury raging in his dark eyes, his lips curled in a snarl, he looked positively terrifying in Thirteen's opinion. She tightened her grip on Wilson's arm, convinced that if the fight restarted Wilson would undoubtedly be on the losing end.

"_Wilson!" _Thirteen finally burst out angrily, unable to believe the oncologist's actions. "Stop!"

"Will the three of you _get off of me_?" He roared.

"Not until we know you're not going to try and tear out Foreman's throat." Taub informed him in a matter-of-fact voice. Wilson tried once more to rip his arm out of Thirteen's grip, and successfully elbowed her in the mouth. She felt hot blood rushing from her lower lip and stumbled backwards.

Chase's reaction was immediate. She felt a rush of air as Chase pressed both his hands into Wilson's collar bones and shoved him against the wall. Chase then moved his left arm so he was pinning Wilson to the wall by his throat, lifting the other doctor several inches of the ground.

"Wilson, you're my friend, but I swear to God if you ever touch her again I'll-"

"Chase! Chase, you're suffocating him!" Thirteen exclaimed as she noticed the purpling color hue of Wilson's face. Wiping her lip with the sleeve of her lab coat, she pushed herself up and grabbed one of Chase's shoulders, pulling back on him roughly. The surgeon seemed to snap out of it, and stepped back from Wilson, who collapsed on the ground, dragging in harsh gasps as he massaged his throat.

"I_ cannot _believe you!" Cuddy shrieked, stalking towards Wilson, her nostrils flared and her eyes blazing. "House could be dying and you're beating on the people who could save him!" Cuddy now seemed to be as furious as Wilson was moments before, and Thirteen knew that if she went off then Wilson and Foreman would be back up and punching each other any moment now. She could already see that Wilson was pushing himself up, and both Chase and Foreman started moving towards him. Thirteen had to do something. Removing her hand that was stopping her profusely bleeding lip, she took a deep breath.

And she screamed. Oh, she screamed. She let out the most shrill, ear piercing scream she could muster. Like a "Help me now I'm being viciously raped/murdered/beaten!" kind of scream.

It got their attention. Everyone immediately stopped and covered their ears, groaning in protest.

"What are you doing?" Foreman tried to yell over her, but his voice was almost completely drowned out by her scream. After everyone had been successfully silenced, she stopped and held up her hand.

"Now," She began in a light tone. "We are all going to stop yelling. We are not going to punch each other, elbow each other, strangle each other, or touch each other in any way." (At this point she missed House, who would have surely made a dirty comment at this.) She paused, looking at the shocked faces around her. "Is that clear? It's no good for House if we all kill each other. Anyone's voice gets loud, I start screaming again, and they," She pointed into the lobby at the small crowd that was gathered there, all of whom quickly averted their eyes. "get a show."

Slowly, Wilson nodded. "You're... right." He said, his voice not filled with anger for the first time since the conversation had started but hoarse from the encounter with Chase. His eyes shamefully darted to Foreman, who was still clutching his nose, his eyebrows furrowed. "Sorry, I've never lost control like that before." He added quietly. Wilson was staring at his hands, which were covered in blood, and she saw a regretful and lost look in his deep brown eyes. Thirteen felt an unexpected dart of pain for the oncologist. She wondered if that was the first time Wilson had ever pyschically hurt anyone, ever.

Foreman waited for a moment, then growled the response. "Well, this proves my point that things get messy when you treat people you know." He commented arrogantly.

"There's something you two have been forgetting this whole time." Chase pointed out in a small voice.

"What?" Foreman asked irritably, grabbing one of the tissues from the tissue box on Cuddy's desk.

"_I'm_ the head of diagnostics." Chase emphasized this, but not in an egotistical way, just as a statement of fact. The surgeon's light blue eyes were aimed directly at Foreman. "And I decide who we do and do not treat."

There was a thick, awkward silence that followed this sentence. Cuddy's eyes darted from Foreman, to Chase, to Wilson, and back again, wondering who would speak. She was wondering whose side Chase was taking, but Thirteen could tell by the way he was looking at Foreman...

"We're treating House." He stated authoritatively. "Two of us will treat Janice, and two of us will treat House. Obviously since you're so reticent to do this, you and Taub can treat Janice-"

"No," Cuddy interrupted him. "I want Taub treating House." Taub stared quizzically at Cuddy.

"Not to be modest, but... why?" He asked.

"You've never lost a patient." She said softly, her eyes avoiding the other team members. Foreman winced visibly, and Chase subconsciously ran a hand through his hair. Her mind was immediately filled with a picture of Stark and his dog, both of whom she had killed... she closed her eyes, regaining her composure. "Thirteen and Foreman can treat your original patient, and Chase and Taub will work with Dr. Collins to treat House." Cuddy ordered with some finality. "If you're okay with that." She added to Chase quickly. "It is your department."

Chase's eyes briefly flashed towards Thirteen, but then his eyes were staring at the ground. Thirteen wasn't exactly thrilled to hear she'd be working with Foreman, but she was happy that House's life wouldn't be on her shoulders.

"Yes," Chase agreed. "yes, that's fine."

Cuddy nodded and cast a pointed glance at Wilson. "Is that alright with the 'family'?" She asked, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips, as if challenging Wilson to argue. Wilson didn't respond, but nodded. Cuddy clapped her hands together. "Excellent. You two," She pointed at Chase and Taub. "go meet with Dr. Collins in House's room and get going on the differential. You don't need me to tell you how important this is. And you two," She waved her hand at Foreman and Thirteen. "go treat your patient. She's a priority too, every patient is... don't let House distract you from that." She could see the pain in the administrator's eyes as she said this. Thirteen nodded.

"You guys can just use House's room for differentials... Thirteen and I can grab the old clear dry erase board and work up in the differential room." Foreman said as he made his way to the door. Thirteen went to leave, but then stopped and looked back at Chase, who was casting a furtive glance at Wilson, whose hands were still massaging his collar, and then another at the thin trail of blood streaming from her lip.

"You should get that looked at." He commented, folding his arms. She shrugged.

"I'll be fine..." She dropped her voice low enough so that hopefully Cuddy, Taub, and Wilson couldn't hear her. "Thank you." She told him, meeting his eyes. Chase blinked, seeming surprised and opening his mouth to respond, but before he could, Thirteen turned on her heel to follow Foreman to the differential room.

**xxxxxx**

Chase and Taub left Cuddy's office without a word shortly after Thirteen and Foreman did, and Wilson and Cuddy were left alone. Wilson sank into the chair in front of her desk, and Cuddy placed herself in her usual spot on her side of the desk, folding her hands in front of her.

"You know for a fact that if you weren't my friend I would have fired you on the spot." She said. There was no malice or even anger in her voice, just resignation. Wilson laid his hands face up on her desk, still staring at his own blood covered digits.

"God, Cuddy, I'm losing it." Wilson still had a tremor in his voice.

"You were damn lucky Thirteen pulled Chase off of you, or else we probably wouldn't be talking right now." Cuddy said. Wilson nodded soberly.

"I _hit a woman._" Wilson choked. "I've got to apologize."

"Worry about apologizing after House and their first patient is out of the woods." Cuddy muttered, running a hand over her face. "Just as we get him back, he's in danger again..." She laughed humorlessly. "House always was unlucky."

"Yeah." Wilson muttered, half listening. It had taken them a half an hour to stop the bleeding in House's throat, and he had spiked a fever at 104. House's life seemed to be hanging by a thread once more, and this time it wasn't just a matter of waiting and hoping for the best.

No, this time, House's life lay in the hands of his team.


	10. Will and Won't

**Chapter 10: Will and Won't**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD! All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company. **

* * *

After hauling the old clear dry erase board out of the supply closet adjacent to the diagnostic offices, Foreman and Thirteen set up shop in the differential room for the first time since before House's accident. Typically the only purpose the differential room served now was a place where they could drink coffee or eat during their breaks. The general emptiness of the office might have also had something to do with the location of Amber's cat box, covertly placed by the sink in the corner.

Even the little fur ball seemed surprised to find them in the differential room. The now slightly bigger kitten generally liked to cuddle up in House's (Chase's) recliner while the four of them were discussing treatment or looking over patient files or what have you in House's (Chase's) office.

She hated the constant mental correction. This was _Chase's_ department. The office next to them was _Chase's_.

_But the name on the door still says Gregory House, MD._

She knew, and she believed that Chase knew too... this department would always belong to House. It existed because of House, and no matter how many hands it changed or how long it had been since House controlled it, they would always be expecting House to walk through the door and start mocking them at any moment.

Yes. This was House's department.

Once again Thirteen felt frustrated that she was treating Janice instead of House. Yes, the responsibility would be greater, but she wanted to _help_. She didn't want to just wait around for Taub or Chase to inform that House was either dead or alive.

Thirteen was not religious, but at that moment she sent up a prayer for House, hoping that whatever was up there would hear her.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by Foreman, who had finished writing Janice's symptoms up on the board. Lower-limb paralysis, adult-onset epilepsy, blindness.

"Did you get all the tests done last night?" He asked, turning away from the board, a dry erase marker in his hand. Thirteen sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"Um... I was in the middle of testing her spinal fluid for MS, and I hadn't gotten to running the histology for Von-Hippel Lindau's yet... but I was looking at her file." She explained, flipping open to the page that had the details on her blood levels. "We shouldn't have even counted VHL as a possibility. Red blood cell count is normal."

"Finish running the spinal fluid for MS, it's still a likely possibility. I'm going to go talk to the patient and see how she's doing. As far as I know, none of us have spoken to her since eight last night, and I don't like leaving our patient's lives in the hands of nurses." Thirteen smirked slightly at this.

"You're starting to sound like House." She commented as she stood up. Foreman shrugged. Thirteen noticed the thick trail of blood still streaming out of his nose. "You should probably get that checked out first." He sighed, touching his hand to his nose, bringing it back sticky with blood. He then looked at his pants, shirt, and lab coat, all of which had small trickles of blood on them.

"You're right. I've got to go change and get this bandaged up. I'll meet you back here in an hour." He told her as he rushed out of the office.

Thirteen suddenly felt very tired, and realized she hadn't slept since seven the morning before. It was now around six thirty, and pale spring light was filtering in through the window. Amber jumped up on the table, no doubt noticing her preoccupation, and mewed inquisitively. Thirteen smiled tiredly and patted the small creature. She then noticed that the kitten's food dish was empty, and quickly grabbed her dry cat food from the cupboard and a pitcher of water and quickly fed the cat, who purred gratefully as she tucked in. After running a hand down her spine, Thirteen hurried out of the office to get down to the labs.

When she arrived, she was happy to find a lab tech whose name she couldn't remember had already ran Janice's spinal fluid. Surprise, surprise- it was negative for MS. Thirteen wasn't surprised. MS rarely progressed this fast.

She realized she now had twenty minutes to go before Foreman was due back to meet her, and she decided that she might as well work on the case herself until he got back. She was just as capable of solving this as he was, after all.

Back at the office, Thirteen had her chin resting on one of her hands, and the other placed on Amber's neck, gently petting the tiny cat. Her eyes were focused on the dry erase board... and her mind was working.

She was no House, she didn't pretend to be... but one thing her mind had always been excellent at was solving puzzles. Not unlike a Rubik's cube, she would twist and turn each case until all the sides matched. Unfortunately, ninety percent of the time, House arrived at the answer before her. Scratch that, probably ninety nine percent of the time...

Janice Carmichael had been their fourth patient since House's accident. Thirteen had been the one with the epiphany for their first patient, Jason. Chase at the last minute had diagnosed their second patient with Lassa fever, and their third patient had turned out to be a Munchhausen, which Foreman and Taub had figured out. They were capable of operating without House, although it was a very near thing. But could they diagnose a patient without Taub and Chase?

_I can do this._

She started at the beginning, the bottom of the case. The nature of the symptoms was neurological. Patient presented with lower-limb paralysis. A mess of various diseases popped up in her mind. Conversion disorder, Lupus, lower motor neuron disease, spina bifida, Paraneoplastic syndrome, and easily a hundred others. She added in the next symptom. _Late onset epilepsy_. The list narrowed. _Blindness_. Smaller still.

In her mind there lay an empty space filled with the possibilities. She had roughly fifteen ailments in mind. Each just as likely as the rest. Picking up the patient file, she flipped to the page that held her various blood count and vitamin levels. These would help exclude some of the diseases.

Standing up (and scaring Amber away in the process), she grabbed a notepad from one of the cupboards below the sink. Settling down with a pen, she began to write out her ideas. She had most of them down when Foreman entered, clad in fresh clothes and with his nose heavily bandaged.

"Looks like you've been working. Spinal fluid negative?" He asked in a muffled voice. Thirteen nodded. "Not a huge surprise. What have you got in mind?" He asked, pulling up a chair next to her.

"Polyneuropathy ." Thirteen said decisively.

"Specifically?"

"CIDP. We need to do a Sural Nerve Biopsy." She informed him. Foreman lifted his head, seeming to consider this.

"Her spinal tap was negative for anti-ganglioside antibodies."

"CIDP only presents with anti-gangliosides in about half of cases. It's a strong possibility, it fits the symptoms and it's consistent with her WBC count." Thirteen reasoned. Foreman sighed.

"Well, IV immunoglobulin isn't dangerous, and it's the best we've got right now. I'll prep for the biopsy, you go get her consent to start her on IVIG." Thirteen nodded and her and Foreman split ways in the corridor. She set off for the patient room, her small notepad residing in her pocket. Although Polyneuropathy was likely, she wouldn't rest easy until the results from the nerve biopsy came back.

Arriving at Janice's room, she knocked gently, despite being able to see through the clear glass on the outside of her room.

"Come in." Janice called.

Sliding open the door, Thirteen entered, and was shocked to see the woman on her lap top, despite being blind.

"Um... hi Ms. Carmichael. It's Dr. Hadley. Don't you think you should be resting?" She asked dubiously as she grabbed a packet of immunoglobulin from the supply cabinet. As she strolled toward Janice, bag in hand, she responded.

"Newspapers come out daily. I can't just take a break. I can still type, blind or not. My assistant will probably have to proof read it a little more, but it will get done." She said, seemingly undeterred by her pitiful condition.

"You're getting on remarkably well." Thirteen commented as she attached the IV line to the IVIG bag.

"It's not like I can worry whatever's hurting me away. I can still write, that's what is important to me."

"I need your consent for this medicine. Risk factors are nominal. It's called immunoglobulin. We think you have polyneuropathy." She stated, hesitating on removing the thin plastic slide that controlled the fluid flowing through the IV.

"Is that curable?"

"Yes."

"Treat me." She stated with a small laugh.

"Great." She released the slide. "My colleague will be here soon to do a nerve biopsy on your-"

"Need consent for that too?" She interrupted, a slight smile on her lips. Thirteen nodded, then realized the woman couldn't see her.

"Uh, yeah. The test is-" Thirteen was cut off again by Janice.

"Don't care. If it'll fix me, do it." She stated. Thirteen stared at the woman for a long moment, then turned on her heel to exit the room.

"Alright. I'll let Dr. Foreman know." She didn't need to bother sending Foreman a page, a SNB wasn't terribly dangerous, and he would have already assumed she gave consent. Thirteen headed back to the office. The nerve biopsy would likely only take about ten minutes, and another twenty to develop the results.

This was the only thing she didn't like about her job. The waiting. Between every result, between waiting for treatment. It left her nerves frayed and a lingering on edge feeling.

She had to resist the urge to stop by House's room and see what Chase and Taub were thinking. This patient was just as important as House, and she couldn't afford any distractions. She just hoped desperately that she was right about it being polyneuropathy, so she could at least help with House's case. She doubted Foreman would, but not working with Foreman wasn't exactly a disappointing prospect. Ever since there break up, she had started finding more and more things about Foreman she disliked, mainly his unfounded and insufferable superiority complex and general arrogance. House could pull it off, because he had something worth being arrogant about... She thought in many ways Foreman was like House, but unfortunately he embodied the worst of House while not taking after the good qualities of the old doctor. The result was not pretty, in her opinion. Perhaps Foreman had not always been this way, but he was now, and she chose avoidance as the best way to deal with her negative feelings towards the neurologist.

She went back to the office, and she waited, agitated, for Foreman's return, repeatedly stroking a hand down Amber's spine and mewing appreciatively. The team was generally not in the offices this much, so she was no doubt happy to have more attention than usual. Foreman came back earlier than she expected, and when he walked in she quickly spun in her chair to face him.

"Was it-"

"No." Foreman answered roughly. "No swelling, radial nerves are perfectly intact. It's not CIDP."

"Damn." Thirteen swore quietly.

"So," Foreman began, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "any ideas?" He asked.

"Well, if we discount the blindness, spina bifida fits. If she had an allergic reaction to the prednisone we started her on when we thought it was transverse myalitis, it would explain everything."

"So her symptoms are a coincidence?" He asked dubiously. "I doubt that. Not too mention she didn't lose her sight until three hours after we started administering the corticosteroids. If she was having an allergic reaction, it would have started within the first hour. I'm thinking it's Reye's syndrome." He stated, sounding convinced.

"There would have been kidney and liver involvement by now. Reye's is systemic, and Janice's systems are strictly neurological. Not to mention, no history of chicken pox." She told him, hoping he wouldn't challenge her and they could continue with the differential.

"Chicken pox?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Thirteen sighed.

"It's been proven that underlying cause of acute onset Reye's syndrome is caused by administering doses of aspirin to children with influenza B or Chicken pox. Neither of which Janice has ever had." She explained.

"Is that with all cases?"

"Most of them. Also, Reye's generally crops up between the ages of four and twelve. Janice is forty." She could see Foreman was tensing at being proven wrong.

"You got a better idea?"

"Yes." She answered quickly. "I think it's focal dystonia."

Foreman seemed to consider her for a moment before responding with a strained voice. "Dystonia generally isn't acute onset."

"_Generally_." Thirteen emphasized. "At this point, I'm not sure what else to do. It's the best match for the slow progression of the symptoms. And to ask you your own question, do you have any better ideas?" Foreman let out a sharp breath.

"Fine. I'll go start her on tetrabenazine. You," He said, pointing at Thirteen, then pointing at the recliner in House's (Chase's) office. "sleep. I caught a nap yesterday, you haven't slept in two days. You're useless if you pass out." She wondered whether he was really worried about her usefulness, or if he was actually worried about her well being.

After considering, she decided two things. Firstly that she didn't care, and secondly that she wasn't going to argue with him. She was bone tired, and she had been fighting to keep her eyelids from drooping.

"Okay." She muttered as she stood up, stretching as she did. "Wake me up if _anything_ changes." She emphasized. Foreman nodded and trotted off, and as she settled herself into House's (Chase's) recliner, she now knew why House had spent so many hours napping in this chair... it was comfy. As she began to drift off, she hoped Cuddy wouldn't burst in and have a fit, asking her why she was sleeping when they had a patient.

**xxxxxx **

It seemed like she had just barely closed her eyes when Foreman was shaking her awake and calling her name urgently.

"What?" She murmured, batting his hands away. As she peeled open her eyes and saw the alert worry in Foreman's eyes, she knew something hadn't gone right.

"Janice has blood in her urine." He told her. "It's not dystonia. Urinary problems aren't consistent." Thirteen sat up and ran a hand through her hair, blinking her eyes in an attempt to better wake herself.

"You're right... but this is another system. Why would something that was solely neurological suddenly become a nephrological problem as well?" She asked, more to herself than Foreman. Foreman stood up from where he was kneeling next to her.

"Search me. But it's going on the board." He said over his shoulder as he headed back into the differential room, to the excited mews of Amber, who had been dozing on one of the chairs. He briefly stooped to pet her, and Thirteen reluctantly parted ways with the comfortable recliner and followed Foreman into the differential room.

She plopped down in her usual seat at the table and plucked her notepad from her pocket. Searching her notes, she willed herself to find something, anything that could help. She was also half listening to Foreman, who was musing to himself.

"I'm starting to think this may be vascular..."

Thirteen grunted in response. One underlined word now stuck out in her notes.

_Genetic?_

She tapped her pen on the table, biting her lip.

"How old was her mother when she died?" Thirteen asked suddenly.

"What?" Foreman asked distractedly. "Young. Thirty. MS."

_Something genetic... that looks like MS...?_

"It could still be Reye's." Foreman suggested. Thirteen shook her head, staring blankly into the distance.

"Still no liver involvement."

_Her father died of natural causes... so it would have to be transferred by the X chromosome and have a sub-type for adult onset..._

"It's cerebral vasculitis." Foreman announced with certainty just as Thirteen was about to open her mouth. "It fits the constellation of symptoms perfectly."

"No." Thirteen protested quickly. "The progression is too slow. Janice has been here for a week today, and cerebral vasculitis generally acts so quickly that she would be dead by now." She pointed out.

"She's lucky then. We need to start her on steroids, _now_." He insisted.

"If you give her steroids, you'll kill her." Thirteen replied distantly. Foreman huffed, clearly frustrated that she didn't agree with his epiphany.

"Care to share with the class?"

"She's got adrenoleukodystrophy." She announced with absolute confidence.

"ALD?" Foreman asked incredulously. "You've got to be kidding. Adult onset genetic ALD is rare, to say the least."

"So?" She asked, not understanding his concern. "It _fits_, Foreman. Perfectly."

"If she's got ALD, there's nothing we can do. She's got another ten years to live if she's lucky."

"Just because a diagnosis is depressing doesn't make it wrong." Thirteen muttered. "Foreman, look," She said, flipping through the patient files and pointing to a mark on the lab chart. "her fatty acid levels are raised, it's consistent. And they've made huge progress with ALD in the past fifteen years, they say if you administer intravenous oleic acid-"

"Thirteen, a high fat diet can just as easily cause high VLCFA levels. And Janice is slightly overweight." Foreman countered, and Thirteen realized with indignation that he wasn't even taking her seriously.

"Foreman! If she's got ALD and she's already progressed to kidney involvement and you give her steroids, it'll trash her immune system and she'll be dead in hours, if we're lucky. Please, just let me run the DNA test-"

"If she's got cerebral vasculitis, she'll be dead by the time you get the results. I'm starting her on steroids." He said as he moved to head out of the room. Thirteen stepped in front of him.

"Foreman-"

"No. You know Cuddy will favor my diagnosis over yours if you go to her, and I'm going to post a security guard outside her room so you can't pull any heroics and take her off of the meds." He informed her, and she detected smugness in his face. She was furious.

"This isn't even about the patient, this is about the damn chip on your shoulder you've had since Cuddy gave Chase the job _you_ wanted! You're just happy you can lord over someone for the first time since House's accident." She said, accusation lacing each word. Foreman bristled and pushed past her.

"That's not true, and you'll have a change of heart when we discharge are patient. If I listen to you, she'll die." He replied scathingly, hurrying out the door. She noticed his fists were clenched.

_The truth hurts, doesn't it?_

There was only one thing she could do. She raced to the lab as fast as she could. She only hoped that if she could prove it was adrenoleukodystrophy before the steroids had a chance to kill their patient...

**xxxxxx**

Foreman sat at the differential table, his feet up on the glass surface, his hands laced behind his head. He had started Janice on steroids roughly an hour ago, and so far there was no word of adverse affects. It looked as though so far he was right. He went to grab his pager to page Thirteen and tell her to get back to the office, but realized his pager was in his other pair of pants. So too was his cell phone.

Cursing, he got up to go get his bag, which he had left beside Chase's desk. Just as he walked in, Thirteen and Cuddy burst through the glass door. Foreman looked up at Thirteen, trying to keep the self-satisfied look off his face.

"Come to tell me the DNA test was negative for ALD, I'm guessing?" He asked lightly. Thirteen blinked.

"No." She said simply. Foreman looked from one woman to the other, and noticed that Thirteen looked glassy eyed and Cuddy looked...

Well, Cuddy looked furious.

"Well, what's happened?"

"You don't even know?" Cuddy demanded, her hands on her hips.

"What?" Foreman asked exasperatedly, spreading his hands out. After glowering at him for a moment, Cuddy spoke.

"Your patient is dead."


	11. Detours

**Chapter 11: Detours**

**Disclaimer: House isn't mine!**

* * *

Janice's symptoms had been wiped of the white board in House's room, and replaced with three new symptoms. Cough, Fever, Bloody sputum.

House was their patient of the week now, and the twisted irony of it made Chase feel sick to his stomach. He leaned slightly on the board, sighing heavily.

"Alright, differential diagnosis?" He asked the small crowd in the room. Wilson had just joined them. He was sitting in his usual chair by House's bedside, looking abashed at the scene that had taken place in Cuddy's office. His eyes were glued to the floor. Taub hovered near him, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed thoughtfully. Next to Chase stood Collins, who was biting the top of her lip, her jade eyes focused on the board.

However, the most interested person in the room was House. His blue eyes, although shiny with fever, were alight with curiosity. He didn't blame the old diagnostician for being almost excited at this turn of events. If he had slept for a month, he'd probably want something to exercise his mind as well.

"Well, this isn't acute. The tearing in his throat shows he's been coughing nonverbally for a while. The damage was serious." Taub offered. Chase nodded.

"We have to keep in mind that House is exposed to all different kinds of infections everyday at work. This definitely looks to be an infection, the question is whether it's viral or bacterial." He looked to Collins. "I need you to get me the records of all the clinic patients House has seen for the past year." She raised her eyebrows at this. "I'm just covering all my bases," He explained. "I can get a hold of our case records obviously, but we need to make sure that he didn't pick up something from a clinic patient." He lowered his voice slightly. "I know it seems like grunt work, but we're obviously a bit shorthanded." Collins considered him for a moment, and with a nod she plodded out of the room. Upon her exit, Chase turned to Wilson.

"Wilson, we need to do a few precursory examinations. That alright?" Wilson lifted his head slightly.

"Yeah, that's fine." He muttered, preoccupied. Chase strolled towards House. "House, I need you to open your mouth, okay?" He asked. House nodded and opened his mouth. Flipping a small flashlight out of his pocket, Chase shined a light down House's throat.

House had several swollen, bleeding cuts in his throat. It did not look pretty.

"We need to check for dysphagia." Taub commented. "Can you swallow for us?" House swallowed obediently, but groaned in agony.

"It burns." He said through gritted teeth. Pocketing the flashlight, Chase moved his fingers to feel House's glands.

"His glands aren't swollen, it's not strep." Chase informed them. "House, do you have any other pain, besides the obvious?" He asked, motioning to House's encased upper half.

"No, nothing." He responded. Wilson cleared his throat, and spoke.

"Shouldn't you be considering that his neurological symptoms could be this as well, and not caused by the crash?" Wilson asked, folding his hands in front of him.

"I think it's more likely my brain symptoms are caused by my _brain _injury." House pointed out. "If you try and juggle both my neurological symptoms with my new symptoms, this case is going to turn into a mess." House's tone was not condescending or sarcastic, he was just stating what he thought. This surprised Chase, but then remembered that the House he was treating was not the House that had been his boss.

But he privately thanked God that he still had the same mind, because deep down, Chase was terrified he would not be able to solve this case, and House's death would be on his shoulders. Having him here, contributing to the differentials... it relieved him slightly. "Could be Legionnaire's." Chase suggested. "Early onset sometimes excludes neurological involvement.

Taub shook his head. "He'd have blood in his urine. If it's viral encephalitis, it could explain his paralysis, along with the cough, sputum, and fever. We need to run a blood culture and do an MRI." Taub offered. Chase nodded.

"Alright. Wilson, do we have consent?" The oncologist nodded.

"Why are you still asking Wilson for consent when I'm awake?" House asked, arching an eyebrow at Chase. Chase exchanged a glance with Wilson.

"Well, you haven't been deemed mentally stable by your attending yet... so your medical proxy still makes decisions regarding your health." Chase explained.

"Don't worry." Wilson assured House quickly. "I wouldn't consent to anything you wouldn't be comfortable with." House nodded.

"Alright." Taub shuffled towards House with a syringe. Pressing the needle against House's arm, he depressed the plunger, then drew back. House's blood filled the syringe, and with a nod to the others, he headed out of the room.

"How soon can we get him an MRI?" Wilson asked. Chase smiled.

"I don't think we have to worry about being put on a waiting list... House is high priority." He said with a wink. He grabbed his cell phone and quickly dialed Cuddy's number. After one ring, Cuddy answered, sounding frazzled.

"Yes?" She asked. "Is House alright?" He hadn't even spoken yet, and Cuddy was already panicking.

"Yeah, yeah he's fine for the moment. We think it might be viral encephalitis. We need an MRI. How soon can we-"

"Right now. It's a slow day, and quite frankly I don't care who I have to bump to get him in there. I'll have the place cleared out by the time you get to radiology." She informed him hurriedly. He could hear clattering and chatter in the background. "I'll meet you there." Hanging up his phone, Chase turned to House, and tried to offer his old boss a smile. He wasn't sure how well it turned out.

"Looks like you'll get to see some of the hospital, House!" House eyes actually lit up at this. Maybe he was hoping that something, anything would jog his memory... "Wilson," Chase asked, moving towards the corner of the room where a wheelchair had been kept, unused since House's injury. "can you help me get him into a wheelchair?"

"Yeah." Wilson muttered, rising from his chair as Chase unfolded the wheelchair. Setting it down next to House's bedside, Chase firmly grabbed one side of House, hooking one hand under his knee, and the other around his neck. Wilson mirrored him on the other side. "Be careful not to jostle his ribs." Wilson warned him.

"You ready, House?" Chase asked. House sighed, looking embarrassed by the fact that he had to be carried out of bed.

"Yes." He muttered. Heaving with all his might, he and Wilson lifted House from the bed. With House being in a hospital bed, Chase had forgotten about th diagnostician's intimidating height. Chase estimated his boss was easily 6' 2", maybe even taller, and he hedged a guess that he weighed in at roughly 190 to 200 pounds. He was extremely grateful for Wilson's help, because the oncologist's broad shoulders were much more fit to bare his weight than Chase's slim frame. Groaning with exertion, the two men carried House off the bed, bring him around so Wilson was not leaning over the bed, and they carefully placed House in the wheelchair. His cheeks still flushed, House winced.

"Are you in any pain?" Wilson asked quickly, placing a hand on House's shoulder. House shrugged.

"Not any more than usual." Wilson still looked concerned as he pushed House and his portable IV out into the hallway, with Chase holding the door open for them. He decided it would be best if it was Wilson who showed House the rest of the hospital for the first time... the radiology labs were on the other side of the building, they would have to go past most of House's old haunts, including his office.

Suddenly feeling as though he was intruding, Chase muttered a quick excuse about having to grab something from the locker room, and quickly darted off in the opposite direction, deciding to take the extra long route to the MRI lab.

**xxxxxx**

"This was your office." Wilson informed House as he slowly pushed his wheelchair past a glass enclosed double office space. "It looks about the same as it always did... Chase hasn't really done anything with it. Do you want to go inside? We've probably got a few seconds to kill..." Wilson trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. Scrutinizing his friend, he saw House tilt his head almost unnoticeably.

Pushing open the glass doors, he led House into his office.

Once inside, Wilson rolled House to sit directly facing his desk, where his red tennis ball sat, seemingly untouched. Wilson had asked Chase several weeks ago if he had been using it as House had, to think. Chase said he had not, because he felt as though it would be a violation of House.

The only visible difference in the room was the thin layer of dust on the television, which showed how Chase and House's work ethics diverged. Mainly, Chase _had_ a work ethic. The desk was cleaner, without possessions laying helter skelter on the surface. The computer was off, and Wilson would hedge his bets Chase had emptied most of the porn off of it. Smiling slightly to himself, Wilson turned his eyes on House to see how he was reacting. He hoped, very vainly, that he would remember something.

House's blue eyes were alight with curiosity, taking in every inch of the office. The office was not as good a reflection of House's personality as his apartment, but he hoped that maybe House would start to form some sense of identity from the space, maybe begin to put together the fragments of who he was before the accident.

"Do you... feel anything?" Wilson asked tentatively. House's good hand lay resting on one arm of the wheelchair, the other one in a cast and sling, hanging uselessly in front of him.

"I..." House trailed off. A frustrated look came over the old doctor's scarred face. House had closed his eyes.

"House?" Wilson asked, taking a step toward his friend and leaning down so they were eye level. His eyes were firmly shut. "House, are you okay?" He asked a little louder, a note of worry edging into his voice. Upon hearing this tremor, House's eyes split open, still shining with irritation.

"I feel like I'm in a glass box." He began, wincing visibly as he tried to lift his arm to run a hand across his face. Being so close to House, he gazed at his friend, he looked older than he had in years, the lines on his handsome face more defined than usual. He looked worn down and tired. "Like I can see everything, like it's there... but no matter what I do I can't reach it."

Wilson sighed, reaching out a hand to lightly touch House's shoulder. "House," He said in a voice barely above a whisper. "someday, maybe you will remember... but until that time comes, this isn't your fault. You were in an accident, I just..." He let out a sharp intake of breath, pulling back from his friend and steadying himself. "I just don't want you to blame yourself for what happened."

House appeared to be about to respond when he was caught of guard. A small white blur had tackled House's plaster encased chest, which was half-covered by his hospital gown. In a split second, Wilson realized it was Amber, the team's adopted kitten, who was now clinging with her claws to House.

"Ouch!" House yelped as he shakily lifted his good arm high enough to removed the kitten from his gown, unhooking her claws in the process. He lifted Amber as high as his arm would allow, examining the small kitten.

"That's, uh, Amber. Thirteen found her when they were searching a patient's house, the team sort of adopted her."

"Amber." House repeated, still dangling the kitten in his hand, who was looking at House with bright curiosity. Wilson nodded slowly.

"They named her after-"

"Your girlfriend." House finished. Wilson nodded again.

"Yeah." Wilson muttered, running a hand through his hair. He watched a strange expression over House's face. House looked... guilty.

"Did... did they like her? My team?" He asked, and it saddened Wilson how much House sounded like a child. This question gave Wilson pause, because he didn't really know the answer.

"I don't know." He answered truthfully. "I think they felt about Amber how they felt about you, in a way. They respected her, but they didn't realize they cared about her until she was gone."

"The team didn't care about me?" House asked, not seeming saddened by this news, just intrigued.

"They did, at least, I think so. You were hard to get close to House. As far as I know, Cuddy, Stacy and I are the only ones who ever managed it." Wilson checked his watch and swore quietly. "Chase and Cuddy will be waiting for us."

He wheeled House out of his office after he had dropped the small kitten on the ground. He wondered for a moment where Foreman and Thirteen were, and how their patient was... however, right now, there was only one patient Wilson was worried about.

**xxxxxx **

"Um, Wilson," House asked hesitantly as his friend pressed the button for the second floor on the elevator.

"Yeah?"

"Dr. Cuddy..." He trailed off, feeling his face grow hot and not knowing how to continue.

"What about her?" Wilson asked carefully as they filed into the empty elevator.

"She's pretty." House commented offhandedly. Wilson suppressed a smile. Maybe this House wasn't so different after all.

"You like her?" He asked nonchalantly. House turned and scowled at the amused expression on his face.

"I only talked to her for about five minutes before I made her cry. I don't even know what I did." He answered, sounding angry with himself. Wilson smirked.

"House, one thing you'll have to relearn is how to deal with women... and lesson one is that you will _never_ understand exactly what's going on inside of their heads." Wilson said sagely.

"So you don't know what I did wrong?" He asked, and Wilson was once more reminded of a child.

"You didn't do anything wrong, House... the new you is just going to take some getting used to." He offered as the elevator doors binged open.

"That's an understatement." House muttered as they began heading towards radiology. Halfway there, Wilson pointed to a door.

"That's generally where you ate your lunch if you weren't eating in the cafeteria with me." Wilson explained. House looked towards it.

"That's a patient room." He pointed out.

"Yep. Coma patient. He was your lunch buddy, he had free cable." Wilson said with a small smile. House let out a snort.

"Did I ever actually do any work here?" House asked.

"Of course. You just had... a thought process."

"Is that a euphemism for, 'you're lazy'?" House joked. Wilson laughed very slightly.

"No, well, sometimes you were. But you always got the job done."

"So I never lost any patients?" The radiology lab was now visible in the distance.

"You lost a few." Wilson said quietly. "A lot fewer than most doctors, though." House said nothing further, seeming to leave it at that. Chase and Cuddy were waiting at the door to the MRI lab. Cuddy smiled at him, but it was clear that she was struggling to put on a brave face. He could feel House tense in his chair.

"Hi." House said quickly.

"Hi." Cuddy responded, pursing her lips but still struggling to maintain. "How are you feeling?" She asked, every single word laced with concern.

"Crappy. But, you know..." He shrugged. "hit by a truck." He thought the line sounded clever. Cuddy's lip curled into what was threatening to become a real smile.

"Well, let's see if we can fix that." Chase nodded to House as he came and took the handles of his wheelchair, wheeling him into the MRI lab. He left House next to the table, and removed the syringe containing the contrast material from his pocket. Taking House's arm, he injected it, eliciting a wince of pain from the diagnostician. Wilson hovered close behind, his brow furrowed with worry.

With Wilson's help, Chase lifted House onto the MRI table.

"Alright, this is the part where I generally explain what I'm about to do... but I guess I don't really need to, do I?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at House. "Just hold still. This'll be over soon." House nodded as Chase turned on his heel into the closed off observation room. Wilson and Cuddy followed close behind.

Once inside the observation room, Chase began the scan. The imaging combed over all the areas of House's brain, going through each area. Everything looked to be normal until they reached House's hippocampus region. A bright white area showed, covering almost the entire mass.

"My God... the damage from the crash is a lot worse than I expected." Wilson commented soberly. "It's a miracle he isn't a drooling vegetable right now."

"That seems to be the only thing damaged though, other than some scarring on the motor-sensory cortex. I don't see any inflammation in the brain lining. It's not viral encephalitis." Chase said, placing the palm of his hand on his forehead.

"Damn." Wilson muttered. The three of them evacuated the observation room, House's brain being deemed fine, excepting the obvious damage. House was slowly ejected out of the MRI as they came to meet him. Cuddy gasped.

"What?" Wilson asked, his head sharply jerking towards her, then at House. He too gasped at what he saw. Chase rushed forward.

"What, what is it?" House asked as he noticed their terrified expressions. Chase was flashing a pocket flashlight in his eyes.

"Whites of his eyes are yellow... he's jaundiced..." Chase trailed off, standing up, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Your liver is failing."


	12. Steeper and Steeper

**Chapter 12: Steeper and Steeper**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD.**

* * *

"Liver failure, bloody sputum, cough, and fever." Chase leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

"House has treated forty five clinic patients in the past year." Collins informed them, flipping through a thick folder. "I've looked through all of the cases, not one of their symptoms match Dr. House's."

"And I've checked out all our patients we've had this year, none of their illnesses are consistent with House's symptoms or progression." Taub shared, running a hand up his neck and looking as though he was thinking the same thing Chase was.

"We're back to square one." Chase muttered.

"Thank you for that uplifting comment." Wilson responded bitterly.

"We've managed to rule out viral encephalitis. That's something." Taub offered.

"That's one condition." Collins pointed out. "Out of the thousands it could be."

"Well, standing here and talking about how bad the odds are isn't going to help him." Wilson seethed. Chase noticed that the oncologist seemed even more on edge than he was before, and he was slightly nervous of testing his patience at the moment, remembering the incident in Cuddy's office.

"Differential diagnosis." Chase commanded as he opened the result of House's recent blood tests.

"Melioidosis fits." Taub stated.

"Not unless House has been traipsing off to Cuba when we weren't looking." Chase muttered, going over the blood results. "Blood flow in the right ventricle seems slightly lowered. If he has a pulmonary embolism, it could explain all his symptoms."

"Not the liver failure." Collins pointed out.

"If it threw a clot to his liver, then yeah, it does."

"Pulmonary embolisms are typically caused by deep-vein thrombosis. He's just started experiencing these symptoms, so the trauma caused by the crash doesn't explain it." Taub affirmed.

"The talc content in his vicodin does." Chase responded.

"House hasn't taken any vicodin in a month, obviously." Wilson reminded them, his eyes never leaving House's face. The old doctor was strangely silent, his blue eyes (now tinged with yellow) staring miserably up at the ceiling.

"Yes, but House has lost," Chase paused to flip to House's basic information. "over fifteen pounds since he was admitted. Remnants of the drugs hung around in his fat cells, and when his body began breaking down the fats it let the drugs back into his system." Wilson considered him for a moment, then nodded.

"Makes sense." He conceded.

"We need to run an arterior venogram." Chase looked to House, looking for his approval. When House continued his melancholy position, Chase spoke. "Is that alright, House?" House's eyes briefly flicked to his own. He nodded.

"Alright, Taub, you run the venogram, I need to run to the pharmacy to get heparin to supplement the warfarin we have him on for his liver. With luck we can still salvage it." With a nod at the others, Chase hurried out of the room, quickly heading to the pharmacy, and trying to avoid thoughts of what would happen if the meds didn't work...

House would need to be put on a transplant list.

Unfortunately, House's tendency to drink half a bottle of scotch a day and pop vicodin like candy fit the exclusion criteria. House would never be put on a transplant list. Wilson would not be able to donate any part of his liver, since his liver was already weakened by the lobe he had donated to Tucker roughly two years ago.

If House's liver became beyond their reach to bring back, there was a very real chance he would die.

Chase was lost in thought when he crashed headlong into Thirteen. He tumbled to the ground, but Thirteen managed to steady herself against the wall. Blinking, Chase scrambled up.

"Nice running into you-"

"Can't talk!" Thirteen was already off and running in the opposite direction by the time he was back on his feet. Chase hung back, his mouth slightly ajar. He hedged a guess that Janice wasn't doing terribly well. He felt a small pit form in his stomach. What if their original patient died because Taub and himself had been reallocated to House's case?

Shaking himself, he continued on to the pharmacy. He was waylaid by Cuddy when he arrived.

"How is he?" She asked, her blue eyes wide with concern.

"The same as he was the last time you asked ten minutes ago." It had been roughly an hour since the incident in the MRI lab, and since Cuddy had to leave to do her whole running-the-hospital thing about fifteen minutes afterwords, she had insisted on constantly checking up on House. If she was this interested in him when they weren't together, he shuddered to think how much she would pester him if they were still an item.

"I'm just worried." She stated tiredly. "What's on the table right now?" She asked as he signed out fifty milligrams of heparin.

"Pulmonary embolism."

"You're going to run a venogram?" She asked. Chase nodded.

"Taub's doing it as we speak." He informed her.

"How confident are you in your diagnosis?"

"It fits." He muttered as he grabbed the bag Marco had brought him. "Thanks." Much to his displeasure, Cuddy continued to follow him as he headed back to House's room.

"There hasn't been any DVT. He hasn't been on vicodin-"

"Talc stored in his fat cells has been released into his bloodstream by his recent weight loss. It caused a pulmonary embolism that's been throwing clots to his lungs and liver and possibly brain." He answered in a monotone. He stopped abruptly in the hallway and looked directly at Cuddy. "Listen, we've got it under control. We'll fix him." She bit her lip and considered him for a moment.

"You're right... I shouldn't be pestering you." She offered him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I better go."

Chase nodded as she walked away. Once she was out of ear shot, he sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. Blinking his eyes, he realized how tired he was.

He wished desperately he could sleep, but he knew that wasn't in the cards for the foreseeable future. He couldn't allow himself to rest until House was cured...

Or dead.

**xxxxxx **

"Venogram was clean. It's not a pulmonary embolism." Taub informed Chase as he, Collins, and Wilson entered the room. Wilson was pushing House in his wheelchair, his yellowish and blue eyes looking as distant and forlorn as earlier. Chase sighed as he hooked an arm under House and, with Wilson's help, lifted him back into bed.

"Damn." Chase muttered as stepped away.

"Dr. Chase," Collins began hesitantly. "From what Eric's told me, Dr. House tends to..." She shuffled awkwardly. "hire prostitutes. His liver systems and acute onset could be serum hepatitis."

"Hepatitis B? Generally antibodies destroy the pathogen before it has a chance to circulate, and House isn't immunocompromised." Taub said.

"It's still a possibility." Collins reaffirmed.

"You're right." Chase said decisively. "Run his blood for Hep B." Collins nodded and hurried out of the room.

"Any other ideas?" Chase asked the room at large, secretly hoping House would respond.

"What about Paraneoplastic syndrome? The antibodies could be attacking his liver and lungs." Wilson offered.

"No sign of a high white blood cell count, no cancer indicators, and fever isn't consistent." Chase mumbled, biting the tip of his thumb, thinking.

"What about bronchiectasis?" Taub suggested.

"Doesn't explain the liver." Chase responded dismissively.

"Massive amounts of alcohol and drugs do." He pointed out.

"A coincidence? Yeah, House would love that." Chase stopped himself, realizing he was talking about House as if he weren't there. _Well, in all honesty, he isn't. His body is, but who he was before... he's gone._

"Leptospirosis." House croaked, speaking for the first time since the jaundice began. "In it's early stages it causes hacking coughs, blood in the sputum, and fever, and then progresses to liver and sometimes renal failure."

"Over a course of generally three weeks. This has happened in a matter of hours." Wilson said, though he seemed happy just to hear House talking.

"I've been in a coma for almost a month. You wouldn't have noticed the first stage symptoms. My symptoms match and I have several of the risk factors."

"Leptospirosis is generally picked up from animals or drinking from contaminated water sources." Chase added.

"Generally." House repeated. "You need to test my blood and start me on doxycycline and broad spectrum antibiotics."

Chase was inclined to argue, but honestly, this was the best idea any of them had had so far. Finally, he nodded.

"I'll page Collins and let her know to test for Leptospirosis as well." Chase agreed. House continued staring at the ceiling. Chase glanced at Taub, and he seemed to be of the same opinion as him.

It was time to leave House and Wilson alone to have some privacy. There was really nothing to be done until Collins got the results from the blood draws, anyway.

Giving House was he hoped was a reassuring smile, he and Taub exited the room.

**xxxxxx **

"House... I'd ask what's wrong, but the answer could be a lot of things considering the current situation." Wilson began, wanting desperately to know the reason behind House's despondence. His friend's yellowing eyes turned on him.

"I'm dying." He said bluntly, sounding unmistakably like the old House. "I'm dying and I've only been alive for fourteen hours."

"You're not- you don't know-"

"My liver is failing, and that's likely to soon be past tense unless I'm right about Leptospirosis or Dr. Collins is right about Hep B. You know I don't have a chance of getting on a transplant list." He muttered, shaking his head, hopelessness emanating from him.

"House..." Wilson was at a loss. "you're not going to die."

"You can't know that." House replied.

"I- you- _no_." Wilson said harshly. "I've spent the past month thinking you were never going to wake up, that you- you- _just no_. You are not going to die. I don't care what happens, I'm _not going to let you die_."

House seemed taken aback by this sudden anger and resolve from Wilson. He could see how this could be odd for him. House of course would not remember their friendship, so Wilson's fierce refusal to give up hope and his pledge to keep him alive would seem unfounded to him. Fighting back tears, he wished desperately that House could just remember. Because the sad fact was, House could die. And he would die not knowing who Wilson was. He would know their story, but he wouldn't _know _him.

House said nothing, but continued to look at him.

"Leptospirosis was a nice call. I didn't think of it." He said, wanting to change the subject and cheer House up.

"I just hope it's the right call. If it's not Leptospirosis, it must be autoimmune. I can't think of anything else that can explain my symptoms." He muttered, furrowing his brow.

"Autoimmune?"

"Lupus." House stated, blinking his eyes tiredly. "Leptospirosis fits the progression better, though."

Despite himself, Wilson smiled. House observed him.

"What?" He asked, searching Wilson's face.

"It's nice to see you... working. Even if your patient is yourself." He told him, somewhat reluctantly. He didn't want House to think he was happy that he was sick. The older doctor nodded.

"I loved it, didn't I?" House asked suddenly. "I had an addictive personality. It wasn't just the booze and the pills... I was addicted to the puzzles. I was addicted to being right." House didn't seem to be asking, just stating.

"Generally psychoanalyzing you is my job." Wilson said. "But... yeah. As long as you had your puzzles and your pills, you managed to keep your misery at tolerable levels." The brutal truth might hurt, but House deserved to know who he was.

"I didn't even care about my patients." He muttered.

"_No_." Wilson responded adamantly. "House, you may never have admitted it, but you absolutely cared about your patients. You may not like them, but I've seen you risk your medical license and even your life on numerous occasions to help them." House raised an eyebrow.

"My life?"

"You've injected yourself with bad blood, walked into quarantine rooms without a suit... it's amazing what you've been willing to do for your patients. You risked your medical license lying to the transplant committee so you could get a heart for your patient. House, flaws aside... you were a good doctor. You were a _good _person."

House merely shrugged. "You're a bit biased, aren't you? Being my best friend and all." Wilson smiled.

"House, I've been friends with you too long to ever try and soften the truth for you. You'd find it disgusting." House's lip twitched very slightly.

"Wilson..." He trailed off, glancing away. "Thank you for being here. I'm... I'm scared."

Wilson reached out hesitantly and grabbed House's hand in his own.

"I'm scared too, House. But I'll always be here." The idea of him and the old House having a moment like this was unthinkable, but he couldn't help but feel slightly warmed. Suddenly, House jerked his hand away, and replaced it on the right side of his abdomen.

"House, what-"

"ARGHHHHH!" House screamed, thrusting his head back against the pillows.

"What, what is it?" Wilson asked frantically.

"MY- IT'S- ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" He couldn't speak, tears spilling down his face.

"Oh God..." Wilson trailed off. "I need some help in here!" He called as he ripped open the door.

"Intense pain in the right side of the abdomen, it can only mean one thing..." He muttered to himself as three nurses rushed in. He watched helplessly as House vomited all over himself, still clutching his side and screaming in pain.

"What the hell's happening?!" Chase yelled as he burst in next to Wilson.

"His liver..."

"What?" Chase asked as Taub and Collins filtered in next to him.

"It's beyond reach. The warfarin and heparin didn't help... it's not salvageable." He paused, his eyes shining with tears as he watched the nurses sedate House, plunging a syringe filled with Adavan into his forearm.

"He's going to die."


	13. Sacrifices

**Chapter 13: Sacrifices**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD! All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company. **

* * *

"So it didn't occur to you even once to exhaust all other options before starting her on a medication that had a very high chance of killing her?" Cuddy asked, cold fury in her eyes.

"I thought I was doing the right thing!" Foreman protested, leaning forward in his chair and placing his hands on Cuddy's desk. "I thought she had cerebral vasculitis."

"You thought! You had a hunch! You risked this woman's life on a _guess_, Foreman!" She yelled, standing up out of her chair and placing her fisted hands on her desk parallel his own.

"Gee, who does that sound like?!" Foreman exclaimed.

"House wouldn't kill a woman just because he was too stubborn to run a simple test! If you would have given Thirteen the chance to run the test for adrenoleukodystrophy, your patient would have _lived_." She emphasized the last word, trying to get through to Foreman that this woman's death was squarely on his shoulders.

"For five to ten years, maybe. Maybe if you hadn't decided to divide up the team, she'd still be alive." He said accusingly.

"You are really willing to do anything to avoid the blame here, aren't you?" She asked quietly, a sense of thick disappointment in her voice. Foreman stared at her, rage and shame pulsing through him. He just shook his head, knowing that if he spoke he would only drive himself further down the rabbit hole.

"The family wants to sue, Foreman. And I don't blame them." She continued. "I can probably get them to settle out of court for a hundred grand... expect an increase in your malpractice insurance. The licensing board will want to review this. You'll be presenting an M&M on Friday. They'll decide whether or not to suspend your license."

Foreman continued to remain silent. There was no escaping it. Once again, he had killed a patient because of his own idiocy. Once again, he had blood on his hands.

He lowered his head, touching his nose to his hands, trying to keep his composure.

"Foreman... I know you're a good doctor. But unfortunately you inherited House's arrogance without his knack of always being right." She leaned in, trying to get him to meet her eyes. He did not.

"I'm not House." He stated. "Last time this happened, I ran away because I thought I was turning into him." He paused, feeling his eyes water slightly. "Maybe I would have been better off turning into him." He muttered.

"Well, whether you like it or not, I'm reassigning you to House's case." Foreman began to argue, but Cuddy cut him off with a hand. "You really think you should argue with me right now? You're lucky I didn't fire you."

Foreman slowly rose from his chair. "Okay." He responded, feeling a sick sense of guilt and defeat. "I'll page Thirteen and let her know that we're on House's case-"

Foreman was interrupted by Cuddy's phone ringing. She sighed and picked up the phone.

"Yes...?" She paused as the person on the other end spoke. "What is it?" The annoyance in her voice had completely disappeared. "There's got to be something we can do." She insisted, icy fear seeming to envelope her. "I'm coming down with Foreman and Thirteen." She said to the person on the phone, hanging it up promptly.

"Come on." She said as she rushed out of the room. As he followed her out of her office, he gave her a questioning look.

"What is it?" He asked, worried.

"House is dead unless we can figure out something _very_ fast."

**xxxxxx **

"It's useless. Even if we figure out what it is, his liver is still damaged irreparably. He's in full hepatic failure, he's only got three hours left, max. It doesn't matter." Chase spoke in a distant, destroyed voice to the rest of the room as they all gazed down at House's unconscious form.

"We could lie to the transplant committee." Taub suggested half-heartedly. Foreman shook his head.

"They all know House, they know about the pills... the booze. There's no use."

"We can't just let him _die_." Thirteen said fiercely, curling her hands into fists. "Not after all this. It's not fair."

"Well, life isn't fair." Wilson said darkly. The oncologist's eyes looked empty. Hope had been fading before, now it was simply gone.

Cuddy stood motionless by House's bedside, tears leaking down her face, doing nothing to hide her misery. At this point, she didn't care what the others thought of her. The only thing that mattered was that House was dying... her heart clenched, making her want to fall to her knees. He was going to be gone, and he would never understand how much he had meant to her. There could never be anyone else, not successfully. Because when she thought of what was important to her and what she needed in her life, it was always House's gruff face and sparkling blue eyes that jumped immediately to her thoughts. It was unnatural how much the older doctor was on her mind.

Often in the solitary moments of the past month she would wish desperately that House was next to her... berating her for being a bureaucratic nightmare, for being a second rate doctor. When he awoke, there was joy that perhaps she could feel that again, the mixture of annoyance and affection and love that made up almost all of her and House's interactions. It quickly disappeared and was replaced with the faint consolation that at the very least House was still alive.

Every day since House's accident, she regretted leaving him. She had left him in one of his weakest moments, driven back to vicodin because of his fear for her life... how could she have been so selfish, so apathetic to how he might be feeling?

House had cared about her. He showed it in his own way, and she was foolish to expect him to be a different man than he had been in all the years they had known each other. But right now, looking at the broken and pale yellow form below her, she would have given anything for any version of House.

More tears streamed down her face. This couldn't be the end. She wouldn't let it be the end. House had to know how she felt, had to know that she loved him, even if he wouldn't be able to comprehend that. Even if he didn't remember her, _she had to tell him_.

"What if..." Thirteen suddenly spoke up, her head lifting slightly. "What if someone donates a lobe of their liver. It would buy us time to figure out what's wrong with him... I'd say six to eight hours extra. If it's curable and we diagnose it correctly, we could salvage his liver with the new lobe, and he could live."

"Is your memory gone too? We can't put House on a transplant list." Foreman reminded her. Thirteen pursed her lips and remained silent.

"One of us could donate a lobe." She said, almost too quietly to hear. The room remained mute in a stunned silence. "He's a universal recipient. Any blood type would work. There's a good chance one of us could donate to him. As long as one of us matches the donor criteria... we could still save him."

"It would permanently weaken whoever donated, and there's still an extremely high chance he'll die." Collins pointed out soberly from the corner.

"It's his only chance." Thirteen insisted. "I think we should all get tested."

"Testing will take an hour, we'll be wasting our own time that we could spend-" Foreman started, but Thirteen interrupted.

"Watching House die? Yes, I can think of nothing better to do." She said bitterly. Cuddy watched as Thirteen combed her eyes over each person in the room. "Foreman, it's pointless testing you. African American-Caucasian transplants are rare, it's unlikely you'd meet the donor criteria. Wilson, you already donated a lobe of yours to Tucker, so that's a no-go..." Her eyes stopped on Chase and Taub. "You two will be the most likely, but Cuddy and I should get tested too." Her eyes flicked to Cuddy. "If you're all alright with that."

"Alright." Taub said.

"I'll get tested." Chase assured her.

"Of course." Cuddy answered immediately. "I'd do anything to save him." She admitted, standing up. "We can do the blood draws in the lab and just test them there. Chase, Taub, Thirteen, come on." She rushed out of the room, chancing a glance at House before the door slammed shut behind Taub, who was the last out.

She really shouldn't have. On their way to the lab, half of the hospital staff saw her with tears soaking her bloodshot features.

**xxxxxx **

Collins stood nervously with the results of the blood draws. House's condition was declining, and everyone gathered in the room was on edge. Thirteen clasped her hands together, and was stunned to find herself praying. _Please let one of us be a match, please, please, if you're up there, just let one of us be a match! _She screamed internally.

Clearing her throat, Collins opened the file.

"Dr. Chase, Dr. Taub..." She trailed off. "I'm sorry, you are not matches." Chase sighed, leaning his head against the wall and sliding to the ground. Taub opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but then stopped, pursing his lips and shaking his head. "Dr. Cuddy... neither are you." Cuddy let out a ragged sob. Thirteen's eyes were firmly fixed on Collins', which we still searching the file.

"Dr. Hadley... you are a match." She said, smiling. Thirteen, Wilson, Chase, and Cuddy's sighs of relief mixed together, as if the room itself had shuddered. "Now, Dr. Hadley, you are taking risks donating your liver,"

"Don't care. Give me the consent forms." She held out her hand. Everyone looked at her strangely.

"With your Huntington's, donating a lobe of your liver could shorten your lifespan even more. There's also a chance something could go wrong on the operating table." Chase said quietly. Thirteen frowned.

"I was born with an expiration date stamped on the bottom of my foot. Risking my life to save someone... I have no problem with that." She told them as she took the papers and a pen from Collins. "But," She paused, flipping immediately to the back to sign the consent forms. She had given these to patients so many times, was it really necessary to read them? "I want Chase to be my surgeon." She didn't look up as she said this.

Chase actually jumped a little, he was so surprised. He blinked.

"Um... okay." He responded. With a click, Thirteen handed the consent forms back to Collins. Wilson looked at Thirteen, grateful tears swimming in his eyes.

"Thank you so much, Remy. This could save his life." His hand was firmly wrapped in House's. Thirteen smiled.

"No problem." Before she had a chance to do anything else, Cuddy was on her, enwrapping her in a huge embrace.

"Thank you." She said breathlessly. "_Thank you so much_." She could feel the older doctor shaking. She awkwardly patted her back.

"He's my friend." She heard herself say it, though she had not meant to. "I'm willing to sacrifice this to save him."

Cuddy gripped her tighter before standing back. She looked a mess, but the blank, emptiness that had filled her and Wilson's eyes now had a very faint flare of desperation and hope in their depths. "I'll book an OR for a half an hour from now. We need to hurry. He doesn't have much time left. Chase," She said, turning to the surgeon. "get together the best surgeons you can find that are on-call and be ready to scrub up at four. Taub, Foreman, try and figure out what the hell is wrong with him so this isn't all for nothing." She told them as she strolled out of the room, wiping a tear of her cheek, with Chase close behind. Collins turned to Wilson.

"Dr. Wilson, bring him to the OR in a half an hour. Dr. Hadley, please come with me." Thirteen nodded at Wilson, Taub, and Foreman as she exited the room with Collins.

"This is very brave, what you're doing." Collins said in her light southern accent, a note of admiration in her voice. Thirteen shrugged.

"He's not as bad as everyone thinks. If positions were reversed and he had the only means for me to live, he'd do the same." And she knew this was true. House cared about people. No matter how much he refused to admit it, no matter how apathetic and uninvolved he acted, he would be willing to sacrifice almost anything for his patients. She would be stunned to see how far he would go to help people he actually knew and worked with.

She made a promise that if House and her both made it out of this alive, she would make an effort to become closer to him. She hadn't realized until he was gone how much she cared for House.

Collins strolled beside her in silence the rest of the walk to the OR prep room. Handing her a hospital gown, she stepped out so Thirteen could change. Sighing, she pulled of her clothes (which were rather smelly, since she hadn't showered since early the morning before) and donned the thin surgical gown, feeling rather exposed. She also found it slightly ironic. How many surgeries had she assisted in? Hundreds, no doubt. Now here she was on the other end of the scalpel.

_And Chase is going to be the one holding that scalpel. _She reminded herself. She didn't know why she had insisted on him being her surgeon... but she felt comfortable with her life being in Chase's hands.

Exiting the prep room, she met a smiling Collins.

"Ready for prep?" She asked. Thirteen smirked.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

**xxxxxx **

Chase's hands were shaking. Chase's hands never shook before a procedure. He had acted cool while he collected two other surgeons to assist (Reynolds and Kellerman) and had managed to keep his composure until he had scrubbed up. Until the realization hit him.

He would be operating on _Thirteen_. His coworker. His friend. His...

The fact that he couldn't fill in the blank with that sentence caused a jolt in his stomach. He liked Thirteen. He had liked her for a long time. But he knew from experience that jumping into a relationship with a coworker was a terrible idea. But he had gotten a very clear idea before Thirteen had left the team earlier in the year that she had very little interest in him. But helping her save her friend Darian, that late night shortly before House's accident... he felt as though he had seen her core. His mild sexual attraction to her became more.

He liked Thirteen.

And now he had to split her open and remove part of one of her organs.

Chase promptly vomited into a nearby trashcan, cursing as he did. He'd have to rescrub.

After changing yet again and tucking his hair back, he walked shakily into the OR. Thirteen was waiting for him on the bed, still awake. She had yet to be put under anesthesia. Seeing her with tubes in her scared him, but he smiled upon seeing her.

_I can do this... I have to do this._

"Hey." He said, trying to emit confidence. He doubted that he was.

"Hey." Thirteen responded with a smile. "Ready to slice me open?" She asked with a smirk. Chase shuttered involuntarily, but quickly covered it.

"Uh... yeah." He couldn't think of anything else to say. He just gazed into Thirteen's eyes. Sometimes they seemed a vibrant light green, sometimes a misty blue. _They look beautiful either way._

As is someone else was operating his body, Chase felt himself lean down, lower his surgical mask and press a very light kiss to Thirteen's surprised mouth. He let his lips hang there for a few moments, savoring how soft hers felt against his own... before he could see her reaction, he ripped his lips away and quickly replaced them with the ether mask. He had only time to see Thirteen's eyes widen in surprise before they drifted peacefully close.


	14. On The Precipice

**Chapter 14: On The Precipice**

**Disclaimer: Fourteen chapters and I still don't own House. Darn. All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production company. **

* * *

Wilson was watching the surgery, his hands clasped together in a pseudo-prayer position in front of him. They were slicing into House, the scalpel tracing a thin line on his abdomen.

Suddenly, Chase looked worried. Instead of the usual thin trail of blood, House was positively gushing. Crimson liquid was flowing likes waves, drenching the surgery table. Chase was screaming for towels, the surgeons were panicking, running around.

The heart monitor was going off, beeping wildly. It was the night House was brought in all over again.

"He's in cardiac arrest!" Chase screamed. The paddles were brought out, but even though they shocked House once, twice, three, four, five times, no difference was made. He died on the operating table.

Wilson pressed his face to the observation glass.

"No! No! No!"

"_WILSON_!"

Suddenly House's dead body wasn't in front of him. Cuddy, however, was. She had a hand on his shoulder and was shaking him vigorously.

"Wha-what?"

"You fell asleep... you were screaming." Concern was written on her already strained features. Wilson blinked several times, looking around. He was in the OR waiting room.

_House is in surgery... he's still alive... _he reminded himself as he leaned forward. Cuddy backed up, still bent over so she would be at eye level with him.

"I'm fine... just... nightmare." He breathed, running a hand over his face and stretching his shoulders. "How long has he been in there?" He asked.

"Three hours." Cuddy informed him as she sat down in the seat next to him, where she had been when he had fallen asleep.

"I've been asleep for two hours?! Why didn't you wake me?" He asked, furious with himself for sleeping through half of House's surgery.

"So you could sit there and be terrified for hours?"

"I should have-"

"Wilson, you haven't slept in two days. Your needs still matter, believe it or not." She said firmly. Wilson sighed.

"No, they don't. My life isn't hanging by a thread." He said, staring blankly into the distance. If everything went well, House would be out of surgery in about two and a half hours. However, then the clock would start counting down... if they couldn't find out what was wrong with House, he would die, regardless of Thirteen's lobe donation.

He found Cuddy's hand on his shoulder once more.

"Wilson..." She pursed her lips. She looked like she had more to say, like she wanted to offer him words of comfort, but could find none. Wilson placed his hand over hers and squeezed it gently.

"I don't know what I'll do if I lose him, Lisa." Wilson said, in a voice just scarcely above a whisper. Cuddy was silent for a long moment before responding.

"I don't know what I'd do either." She said, her voice cracking slightly. Wilson considered her for a moment, his brown eyes filled with misery. She shied away from his eyes, though she wasn't sure why.

"You still love him, don't you?" She didn't even know why Wilson bothered phrasing it as a question. He knew her well enough to know the answer without asking.

"Yes."

**xxxxxx**

Foreman stared furiously at the board, willing it to give him something, anything to work with.

Multiple conditions with thick white lines on them resided on the clear board in the differential room. He and Taub had been working nonstop since House's surgery had began, trying to find the answer that had so far eluded them.

"Typhoid?" Taub suggested tiredly, flipping through his House's chart.

"Wouldn't make any sense. House has been in a clean, safe hospital bed for a month."

"Bronchiectasis?"

It had been like this for the past three hours. A faint hope that they had landed on the correct answer would flare, but just for a moment before one of them shot the other's idea down.

Foreman furrowed his brow. What were they missing? What minute detail had they overlooked?

_Think... think... think..._

Taub rattled off another idea, Foreman shot it down. He looked just as frustrated as he felt. He had already killed one patient today, he didn't want to add another to the list. Especially not his boss.

What Foreman wanted to do right now was find a nice, secluded corner, and beat the living crap out of himself on the inside. His stupidity, his superiority complex, it had cost that woman her life...

_Focus!_

House, that's what he needed to focus on. He had to save him.

"This could be lung cancer that metastasized to his-"

"White cell count isn't consistent." Foreman said immediately. Taub sighed.

"Listen, unless you have a better idea-"

"I do!" Foreman said suddenly, pushing himself out of his chair. He stared in shock at the whiteboard. How had he not considered it before?

"He's got pulmonary tuberculosis!" He exclaimed, pointing at the board. Taub looked at him like he was insane.

"Um... Foreman... PTB doesn't cause liver failure." He reminded him in a gentle voice.

"In rare cases pulmonary tuberculosis can progress to hepatic tuberculosis. It explains all of his symptoms. And it's treatable! It- it's _curable_!" He burst out in amazement. The epiphany felt so sweet, but Taub was still looking at him dubiously.

"Why are you so sure?" He asked.

"I... I just know, okay?" He spluttered.

"You 'knew' with Mrs. Carmichael." Taub commented lightly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Listen, we'll run a QFT-Gold test in the lab, it'll only take an hour. We could know what House has before he ever gets out of surgery!" He proclaimed.

"If he gets out of surgery." Taub muttered dismally as they left the differential room and hurried down to the lab.

**xxxxxx**

_The sun was bright and shining. Thirteen wasn't sure where she was, but wherever it was, it was beautiful. Long fields of grass fanned out before her, dancing lightly in a warm summer breeze. She smells the air, and it holds the clean fresh smells of the forest, earthy and comforting. She sees that tall firs guard the meadow she stands in, and the sunlight filters through them, causing a strobe effect. _

_Thirteen looks down to see herself in a clean white blouse and a corresponding skirt. Odd. She never wears skirts. But she is comfortable, so she supposes it doesn't really matter. She takes an experimental step forward, feeling the grass fronds brush lightly against her legs. Someone was around, she can tell, but who and where?_

"_Hello?" She calls out, her voice echoing in the pleasant silence. A bird chirps in the distance, clear yet indistinct at the same time. Thirteen blinks. "Is someone there?"_

_Strong arms are suddenly wrapped around her and she gasps, trying to jump away. An amused male voice chuckles behind her._

"_It's just me, relax." The voice is familiar, slowly, Thirteen turns. Chase looks back at her, a small smile on his face. He looks slightly older than the Chase she knows. Faint laughs lines hang at the sides of his eyes, and his pale blue eyes hold a different property to them. They have seen more, known more, and have a care-free glow to them that she had never seen there before them. They speak of contentment and love._

"_Chase?" She asks, taking a step towards him. Chase's smile falters._

"_Yes, it's me... Remy, are you alright?" He asks, tilting his head and lightly grasping her forearms. She stares at his hands for a moment, registering that they're there. She looks back into his eyes, so clear that she can see her own distorted reflection in them. Her heart had taken a huge leap when he had said her first name. It was the first time she could remember him saying it. She liked the way her seldom used first name sounded in his unobtrusive Australian accent._

"_I'm okay." She responds, though she doesn't remember making the conscious decision to respond. "Where are we?" She asks._

"_We're home." He says, lifting an eyebrow and stepping out of her field of vision. He still has a hand on her right arm. Now she sees a small path, and a white cottage through the trees. "You wandered away again."_

_Thirteen is now terrified. The way he said it, like it happened frequently... like she was an unstable child. She turns to meet Chase's eyes once again, a thorn in her heart._

"_Am I sick?" She asks, her voice trembling. Chase merely looks at her with pursed lips. The care-free glow is gone, and the pained, regretful Chase she knows is back. He pulls her into a tight, wordless embrace, tracing small circles on her back with his fingertips. Suddenly, a bright white light fills her vision, and Thirteen knows no more._

**xxxxxx**

It was eleven o'clock at night. House should have been out by now...

Wilson's heart was beating extremely fast, worry taking up every inch of thought in his mind. His hand was firmly fixed in Cuddy's, both of them having a mutual understanding that they needed some form of human contact at the moment to comfort them.

Wilson had wanted to watch the surgery, he had, but he knew Cuddy was not going to watch, and did not want to leave her alone. When he had asked her why she wasn't going to (shortly before his impromptu nap) she had answered in a weary voice.

"I'm just sick of seeing him hurt, seeing him about to die." She responded. "I... need a break. I have no desire to see him bleeding, see him being cut up even more, even if it will help him."

Wilson privately agreed, though he wished he knew how House was doing.

He heard footsteps coming down to the OR waiting room. He practically jumped out of his seat. _Let it be Chase, _he pleaded with whoever was listening, if anyone. _Please, just let it be Chase. _He had to know. He could not take waiting any longer.

It was.

**xxxxxx**

Foreman and Taub were practically racing through the halls.

"I can't believe you were right!" Taub exclaimed, amazement clear in his voice. "TB, how did he even get it?"

"No clue." Foreman replied in an out of breath voice. They had to tell Wilson and Cuddy the excellent news. House should be out of surgery by now, shouldn't he? "TB's written off as pneumonia and the common cold all the time... some clinic patient has a cough, House sends them off with a box of tissues when they really have TB, and they pass it off to him. Collins wasn't looking for minor coughs and sniffles when she was going through House's records."

"Three week's regiment of Isoniazid, Rifampin, and Pyrazinamide and it'll be like nothing ever happened." Taub said as the sign for the OR came into view.

"Yeah, except the semi hitting him." Foreman muttered. They skidded around the corner. They had reached the OR waiting room.

**xxxxxx**

Cuddy's heart was clenching. Chase's face was obscured by the surgical mask. In a few moments she would know... she would know if House had lived through the surgery. Each statistic, each possibility, had been nagging incessantly at her mind since she had taken this seat six hours ago. It was all she could do not to burst into tears. She would know from the look on Chase's face when he pulled down that mask how the surgery had gone, if House was alive or dead.

Suddenly, something other than Chase caught her attention. Foreman and Taub, looking excited, had just burst in. Their eyes quickly flicked between Chase and Wilson. Wilson had jumped up upon hearing Chase coming down the hall, and the two men stood parallel each other, both of their heads now turned to Foreman and Taub, who were just gawking at Chase.

Chase pulled down his mask.

**xxxxxx**

Wilson gasped with relief, sagging back into the wall. A smile was fixed firmly on Chase's face. Barely able to hear anything over his frantically beating heart, he could only distantly make out the words "okay" and "taking him back to his room" and "Thirteen's fine". He was relieved to hear Thirteen was okay as well. He liked the young doctor, and losing her on top of all the other pain of the past month would be terrible.

He could hear Cuddy crying behind him. Stepping back from the wall, a goofy smile on his face, he grasped Cuddy's arm and pulled her into a hug.

"Um, we just got back from the lab..." Foreman stated abruptly, walking towards them with Taub close behind. Wilson stepped backed from Cuddy, eyeing Foreman. He looked... happy? "We know what he has."

Wilson gaped at him. "You... what?" He stammered. That had been the next hurdle, trying to find what was wrong with House in the six to eight hour period they had extended his life by.

"He has pulmonary tuberculosis that progressed to hepatic tuberculosis. We confirmed. It's what we got. It's curable." Foreman smiled. "He's going to live. He's going to be okay."

Wilson continued to stare.

So did Cuddy.

And Chase.

"So... it's over." Chase said softly. "He's going to be okay."

"Okay." Cuddy repeated, mulling over the words. "House is going to be okay." Looking back at Wilson, they hugged again. For the first time in awhile, they cried tears of happiness, instead of tears of fear and pain and worry.

House was going to be okay.


	15. Respite

**Chapter 15: Respite**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD. All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company. **

* * *

Wilson was waiting by House's bedside, his hand in his, when he woke up. House groggily lifted his eyelids, his vision blurry. He felt the warm pressure on his hand and turned his head to meet his friend's brown eyes. The puffy redness of his cheeks made House wonder if he had been crying.

He soon became aware that there were more people in the room. Chase hovered nearby, wearing surgical scrubs and smiling widely. Taub sat on the loveseat, his hands folded together and a thoughtful expression on his face. Cuddy was kneeling next to his bed on his other side, and he removed his eyes from Wilson's to gaze into her blue depths. He tried to smile at her, but he wasn't sure how it came out.

"Hey." She said softly.

"Hi." He replied, taking in her features. Just seeing her comforted him for some reason. It was nice to see her when she didn't seem on the verge of tears.

"What's the last thing you remember?" She asked, grasping his other hand unconsciously. He lightly squeezed her hand, then turned his head back to Wilson.

"We were talking." He said, groping around in his mind for the few memories he actually had. "Talking about how we were both scared." His voice was hoarse still, and his throat burned.

Wilson nodded.

"You went into full hepatic failure, House." House's eyes widened at this.

"But that means-"

"Relax." Chase held up a hand with a small smile. "We found you a donor." House furrowed his brow.

"How? You couldn't have put me on a transplant list."

"Do you remember the woman you met earlier? Dr. Hadley?" Chase asked, stepping to the foot of House's bed.

"Thirteen?" He asked. Chase's smile widened, and he nodded.

"Yeah. She donated a liver lobe. She gave us a chance to diagnose you." He explained.

"I'm guessing by the fact that everyone looks happy that you found out what's wrong with me?" House asked. Chase nodded.

"Pulmonary tuberculosis. Foreman figured it out." House blinked.

"It can't be PTB. Liver failure isn't consistent unless..." He trailed off, thinking. "unless it progressed to hepatic tuberculosis. Damn!" He cursed. "Why didn't I think of that?"

To his surprise, everyone in the room laughed at this.

"Foreman... he's the one I haven't met yet." House observed. "Where is he?"

"He disappeared a little a while ago. I don't have a clue where he is." Taub said with a shrug. "Probably punching a wall or something."

House looked at Taub quizzically. Cuddy frowned.

"You know the patient your team had before you?" She asked. House nodded.

"Janice Carmichael." He affirmed. Cuddy sighed.

"Well... she's dead. Foreman misdiagnosed her, and she died as a result." She informed him in a solemn voice. House shifted in his bed slightly, pursing his lips.

"The important thing right now is that you're alive, and you're going to be okay." Wilson smiled brightly. "We've got you started on a regimen of drugs-"

"Isoniazid, Rifampin, and Pyrazinamide." House finished. "The PTB and HTB should clear my system in about three weeks."

"And then you'll be fine. Other than the being hit by a semi thing." Wilson said with a bright smile, looking happier than he had seen him since he awoken. So, ever for him really. House looked around, taking in the elated face of each of the people around him. He was at a loss. He felt undeserving of their love, of their care, because his memory only extended back about twenty four hours. It made him happy and uncomfortable at the same time.

"Thank you." He said softly. "Thank you for fighting to save me." He registered the look of shock on all of their faces. They all seemed so floored that they didn't respond. He sat there, with Wilson and Cuddy gripping each of his hands in silence.

Looking at each of them for a long moment, he realized with a jolt in his chest that he would actually get to know these people, and soon their care would not be uncomfortable, but expected and appreciated. It hit him in that second that he indeed was going to live. He was going to get a chance to make a new life, memories or no memories.

He smiled then, because the hope that had been stomped out in his chest flared, causing a content warmness to spread through his body.

**xxxxxx **

"You need to think about this." Rae Lynn insisted, placing her hand on Foreman's arm. He would not look at her, and she didn't understand why.

"I have. I haven't stopped thinking about it, actually." He said in a voice that she barely recognized. She had never seen Foreman like this, his eyes shining and his voice faint. He always had seemed so strong, so invincible.

Of course, she had only known him for a month. Despite the brief nature of their relationship, she felt she knew him better than she had ever known any man she had dated. She ran a hand down his soft cheek, willing him to meet her eyes. Reluctantly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes looking tortured.

"You did everything you could." She told him, rubbing her thumb down his jaw line.

"No. I didn't. Thirteen did everything she could. I... I let my ego get the best of me. I killed her." He whispered.

"You did _not_ kill her." Rae Lynn said fiercely. "You would never intentionally hurt anyone." Foreman let out a humorless laugh.

"That's what my mom said when I killed my first patient, five years ago..." Rae Lynn nodded. One night, in a subdued voice, Foreman had told her about Lupe. How it changed him, caused him to resign...

Like he was doing now.

"You can't run away every time something goes wrong... the nature of medicine is the prevention of death, but we can't be perfect all the time. We can't save everyone, we make mistakes!" Rae Lynn struggled not to let a hard tone creep into her voice as irritation flared in her stomach.

"This wasn't just prescribing the wrong medicine, choosing the wrong treatment. All I would have had to do was run a simple test before starting treatment for cerebral vasculitis, and she would still be alive." He said, clenching his fists in frustration.

Rae Lynn stepped back, letting her hand fall to her side.

"Eric..." She trailed off. His eyes were still locked on her. "When you say you're leaving... are you leaving more than just your job?"

He stared at her, rising slowly from his seat against the wall in the differential room, which was obviously empty due to the fact that the rest of the team had congregated in House's room.

"No." He said quietly, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm leaving this job. Not you... I could never leave you."

She returned his embrace, but pulled back quicker than she usually did.

"Where will you go?" She asked. "You know you're blacklisted after what happened at Mercy." He sighed.

"I was going to tell you last night, but I forgot... the New England Journal of Medicine wants me to write their neurology column. It doesn't pay much, but I've got enough saved up that I can take it easy for awhile... figure out what I want. Try and get a job in a neurology department around here."

"Not diagnostics?" Rae Lynn asked in a faint voice.

"No."

"Eric, you've been in diagnostics for the last seven years... you're specialty may be neurology, but you've always preferred this." She reminded him, motioning towards the clear dry erase board next to the table. She didn't want him to go, she really didn't. But she had never been one to plead with anyone. Perhaps this would be best for Foreman... she didn't know. But she hoped that it would not put distance between them. That was the last thing she wanted.

"You're right. But I'm not cut out for diagnostics." He said, averting his eyes, no doubt knowing the argument that was going to come.

"Not cut out for diagnostics? You've been doing this for seven years, working under the best diagnostician in the world!" She insisted.

"I've learned a lot from House." He began. "I'm good enough at doing this to stay here, working under someone else... but I know now I will never be good enough to run my own department. Look at how crappy it went the other times I tried..." He trailed off, agitation clear on his face. "I'm like House in the respect that I always trust my own judgment over anyone else's... but I shouldn't. I've become egotistical."

"You're not-"

"I am." He didn't say this coldly, but with a seriousness that silenced her. "What's the point of staying here? I'll never be able to lead this department. I don't feel like sticking around to be Chase's lackey."

"I would bet my practice House is going to go after his medical license the second he's out of here. I don't see Chase being the head of diagnostics forever."

"Regardless, it's all the same. I don't want to be stuck in the same place I am now forever. This isn't the catalyst, it's the final straw." He began to move towards the door. "I'm going to head home for the night, get some sleep..." He turned back to her briefly, his hand on the door. "Am I going to see you tomorrow?" He asked, his forehead creasing. Smiling sadly, Rae Lynn strolled towards him and kissed him lightly on his lips.

"Of course."

**xxxxxx **

Thirteen reluctantly opened her eyes, harsh hospital light filtering through her eyelashes. Her thoughts, half-awake, were murky and indistinct.

_I'm in the hospital..._

It all came rushing back, and she let out a heavy breath through her nose. She was awake, alive. The surgery had gone well for her, at least. But what of House? Searching the room, she saw a peacefully sleeping Chase at her bedside, his mouth hanging open slightly and his head lolling on his shoulder. His blond hair was a wreck, and he altogether looked rather disheveled.

She smiled through the pain in her abdomen and her general feeling of tiredness. Suddenly, the dream she had had while she was under came back to her.

And of course she remembered the kiss Chase had given her before she slipped under the anesthesia.

For the first time, she thought of what a relationship between her and Chase would be like.

She didn't know if it was the pain meds or her own lack of imagination, but she had very little idea of what Chase would be like outside of work. She remembered his bachelor party, one of the few times she had been with Chase some place other that PPTH or a patient's home.

He had been fun, easy-going, even cracking a good joke or two... altogether, not bad to be around.

But how would that translate into a relationship?

She found it both pathetic and amusing that she had only been awake for mere seconds, and her mind immediately had jumped to Chase. She suspected that even if the young doctor wasn't sleeping inches away, her mind would still be on him. How could it not? She hadn't kissed a man since the end of her and Foreman's relationship...

Foreman. She wondered where the neurologist was now. How he was dealing with the death of their patient. Although she felt as though she should have very little sympathy for Foreman considering the situation, she still felt bad for him.

She knew what it was like to lose a patient.

However, she was much more worried about their current patient. If Chase was dozing peacefully at her bedside, surely that meant House was okay. Right?

She didn't want to wake him up. With a glance at the clock, she saw it was three in the morning. It had only been twenty five hours since House had woken up... it was unlikely Chase had slept at all. But she had to know if House was alright, if this was all worth it or if she had just extended House's suffering.

Reaching out a tentative hand, she shook Chase's shoulder. He jumped, looking around in a half-asleep panic, before his eyes rested on her and he relaxed visibly.

"You're awake." He breathed, a bright smile coming across his face that reminded Thirteen eerily of her dream.

"Yeah." She responded, unsure of how to continue. "House-"

"Is fine. And recovering from not only liver surgery, but PTB and HTB." Her eyes widened as he said this.

"Who-"

"Foreman."

A rather odd silence punctuated that statement. She wondered if Foreman felt any sense of redemption for saving House. However, she quickly brushed this aside as relief filled her. House was going to be alright. Well, as alright as someone who had been in a tragic car accident could be, anyway.

"So, is everything just going to go back to normal then?" Thirteen asked, her voice subdued. She was fighting back the groggy state the surgery had left her in to continue their conversation. Chase shrugged, a small smile still on his face.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so, though. House is different... very, very different. And, well..." He trailed off, looking at her oddly. She simply raised an eyebrow, deeming it unnecessary to respond. "I was wondering if maybe things didn't have to go back to normal." He said with an air of trepidation. Thirteen considered him for a very long moment.

"Is that you're cryptic way of saying you like me?" She asked, giving him a lopsided smirk. He lowered his eyes, and she saw a very faint pink tinge touch his cheeks.

"Yeah, I suppose so." He said quietly.

Her life wasn't going to be long. Why should she be wary, she had never been so before... Perhaps Chase was a risk, but...

He was a risk she was willing to take.

"Well... I'd say we go out for a drink, but the recent liver lobe transplant kind of excludes me from that." Chase's eyes brightened, and another broad smile adorned his face. She had never seen Chase so... happy. Generally the best she got from him were passing smirks or chuckles.

"How about I go get some food from the cafeteria, and we go to a very late dinner together, right here?" He asked, putting his hands on the arms of his chair.

Thirteen grinned.

"It's a date."


	16. Recovery

**Chapter 16: Recovery**

**Disclaimer: For the sixteenth time, I don't own House MD!**

* * *

It was a long month, the one that followed House's liver lobe transplant. In the twenty four hour period between House's awakening and his diagnosis, it seemed as though everything had changed.

House could not walk, had no memories, and needed months of physical therapy.

Thirteen and Chase were together.

Foreman was leaving.

Wilson had his best friend back.

Cuddy was hopelessly in love with a man who barely knew who she was.

It seemed like it was a thousand years ago that Wilson sat at House's bedside, hopelessly watching his friend slip further and further away. House's recovery was hard on all of them, but the fact that he _was_ recovering gave him and Wilson strength to press on.

Getting to know the new House was painful and pleasant at the same time. No matter which way you spun it, the House that had existed before the crash was gone. Although Wilson quickly found that his brilliant mind remained, House's personality was much... quieter. House was no longer rude, brash, and insane. He still made the occasional wise crack, but generally his jokes were much more good natured and not racist/sexist, or at someone else's expense.

Overall, the new House was more like Wilson then he was the old House. The only times he would connect the old and new House was if House was thinking. His brow would still furrow, his blue eyes would brighten, and he would stare off into the distance. Wilson could almost hear his mind working. These moments where he recognized the old House were comforting, but few and far between.

House was still his best friend, memories or not. Wilson would be there to help him through his recovery, he would be there for him no matter what. House would have done the same for him. At least he liked to think so.

The day of House's release gleamed in the distance. The dog days of summer were dotted by various events.

The first, and most exciting of which, was Dr. Harmon's declaration that with hard work and intense physical therapy, House could regain full use of his arms and legs. It would not be easy, though. They expected it would be several months before House would be able to walk again. However, only two weeks after waking up, House had regained almost all of his motor function in his right arm. Although he still had trouble making a fist, he could lift his arm all the way above his head now.

The left arm was a little more tricky, since it had been almost completely destroyed during the crash. Most of the bones were still mending, and pressing them too strenuously threatened to cause stress fractures. However, he was able to lift his left arm (with a good bit of wincing) and use his hand to a fairly good extent. He was able to do things with his hands, which thankfully broke the incessant boredom of being incapacitated from the waist down in a hospital bed. Upon House's request, Wilson had brought many of House's medical texts from home. When asked why, House smirked slightly.

"If I want to get my license back, I better study up."

House had two main goals. He wanted of course to walk, and to get his medical license back.

This opened up a sticky staffing situation.

House receiving his medical license depended heavily on Dr. Hennessy clearing him to be mentally stable, but also clearing him in full ability to safely practice medicine. Although Dr. Hennessy was kind to them and Wilson considered her a friend, he knew that her integrity would not allow her to clear House unless she was three hundred percent positive that he could practice medicine just as well as he had before the crash.

Two weeks after House's surgery, Wilson and Chase devised a good way to prove this to Dr. Hennessy. With a vacant slot on the team left by Foreman's abrupt and vague resignation, Thirteen, Taub, and Chase were in need of a new team member. Of course, they couldn't technically hire House, but they already did differentials in his room... they basically took House on as a consult.

They were back to work the day after Foreman's resignation went through. Cuddy had given each of them two weeks off. When asked by Chase and Taub why they got the time off, she looked at them, smiling slightly.

"Because you deserve it."

House was thrilled by the idea of helping with cases. He could see it plainly on the team's faces that they were trying hard to restrain grins during the first differential. Perhaps they all felt like Wilson did.

The old House may have been gone, but the new House was not a whole new animal, in some ways.

He still didn't trust patients, considered the bizarre, outlandish, and connected things in his mind that no one else would have even dreamed of.

Yeah, he was still a genius.

Wilson remembered when House had diagnosed their first patient since Foreman's resignation. None of them were truly surprised, they had all expected it.

"Meningococcemia. " Chase muttered to himself, awed, as he erased the white board. "Never would have thought of it."

House's relationship with his team members seemed to have completely evolved. Many times Wilson opened the door to House's room only to find Chase, Taub, or Thirteen in there, eating, watching TV, or just talking with him. Once, he had even walked in on Chase and House _laughing together_.

The sheer impossibility of it hit him like a lead weight.

Of all the team, Wilson had noticed how close Thirteen and House had become. He remembered the early morning after the liver lobe transplant. House had asked to see Thirteen. Wilson agreed, although apprehensively. He wondered what House had planned to say to Thirteen.

Knocking lightly on Thirteen's door, he heard her call from inside.

"Come in!"

Wilson pressed open her door, pushing House in his wheelchair as he did so. He greeted Thirteen with a smile.

"Hey." She greeted Wilson before her eyes darted to House, and they widened significantly.

"House?" She asked, laying down the book she was reading and sitting up in her bed.

"Hi." House said as Wilson rolled House to her bedside. Wilson stepped back, casting House an awkward and questioning glance. House shrugged.

"You can stay Wilson, it's fine." House reassured him. Wilson nodded. House turned his eyes to Thirteen. They looked at each other for a long moment, and Wilson wondered curiously what was going on in each of their heads at that moment. House seemed to be debating on what to say. "How are you feeling?"

"I wanted to ask you the same thing." Thirteen said, her lip curving slightly into what might have been a nearly undetectable smile.

"I'm alright. Good as I can be, considering." House responded. Another long moment passed between the two doctors. "I... I wanted to thank you for saving me."

"Don't thank me, thank Foreman." She said humbly.

House probably would have thanked Foreman, if he had ever had a chance to meet him. Foreman had not stopped in to visit House once. Wilson had cornered him in the clinic before his resignation had gone through, and wanted an explanation. Foreman had shrugged him off, looking reserved and distant. He had told Wilson that he saw no point of seeing House. House didn't know who he was. Why should he introduce himself to him when he was going to be leaving in two weeks anyway?

He wished Foreman felt differently... but he knew that he could do nothing to change the neurologist's mind. He had tried to convince him to stay last time he had wanted to leave (albeit the attempt might have been slightly ineffective, as he was bouncing off of the walls on speed at the time) and it didn't do anything to stop him.

"You sacrificed your own health for mine... I'd be dead if it weren't for you. I just wanted you to know that I'm grateful." He pressed on, his new voice low and sincere.

"You're my friend." She said simply as she smiled, her blue-green eyes taking on a shiny quality. House beamed at her.

Wilson wasn't sure if you could've described House and Thirteen as friends before the accident, but since that encounter Wilson thought the term fit them perfectly. Also, oddly enough, House had begun referring to Thirteen as Remy, something almost no one ever did, and something House had absolutely _never_ done. One day while grabbing a coffee in the cafeteria with Thirteen, he had asked her why she didn't call House Greg.

"Well..." She looked thoughtful. "He was told since he woke up that his name is 'House'. It took him long enough to get used to responding to that. I don't want to make things more difficult by calling him something else. Plus..." She trailed off. "I feel like if I call him Greg, that erasing one of the last parts of his old identity."

Wilson could see in that moment that although Thirteen enjoyed the company of the new House, that she too missed his previously caustic and acerbic personality.

Chase and House started to develop what Taub had affectionately dubbed a bromance. Wilson had to say, he felt a small and pathetic pang of jealousy when Chase would spend time with House. He had never had to share House with anyone other than Cuddy before, and that had never really been a problem for him.

Still they spent the majority of their time together. Wilson was delighted House still liked to do all the things they used to do together. Every Friday, House and Wilson would sit in House's hospital room, watch bad movies on the TV in the corner, and eat a large pizza from the pizza place a couple blocks a way.

House and Wilson were still best friends. That one detail made it all worth it. Because although things would never be quite normal again, their friendship had stood the ultimate test.

It kind of warmed Wilson's heart a little.

The person who was in House's room the least was without a doubt the one who wanted to be in there the most; Cuddy. Wilson could see the tortured look in her eyes every time she forced herself out of House's presence and back into her job or her duty as a mother.

He thought it was kind of amusing and adorable at the same time how House acted around Cuddy.

House had told him in confidence that he didn't have the slightest clue how his old self got a woman like Cuddy. Wilson had taken a long time to respond, but decided he should just be honest.

"Neither do I."

Cuddy seemed torn over House. Wilson knew she still loved House, and he knew that House had feelings for Cuddy, though how deep they were he didn't know.

He wouldn't mind them getting back together. It would make House happy. However, surprisingly, he already seemed to be fairly content. One night, Wilson had actually point blank asked him if he was happy.

House had fumbled with his bed sheets, biting the inside of his lip as he toiled with the question.

"I am." House conceded. "I mean, having half of my bones broken, no memory, and being stuck in a hospital bed unable to move the lower half of my body kind of sucks, but other than that, I'm fine. I've got people who care about me. I've got goals to work towards... yeah, I'm happy."

He didn't see how he could be happy in that situation, but House in a hospital bed was happier than the House he had known in real life.

That, at the very least, was a nice change.

Although it would have been ideal for House to stay for six weeks, he and House had discussed it, and House had decided on being discharged on July 15th, exactly two months after his accident.

Now the only thing to discuss was what would happen after House was released.

"House..." Wilson began one day while they were eating lunch. Chase was running an EKG on their patient, and Taub and Thirteen were searching his home. House looked up quizzically from his Reuben. Wilson was still getting used to buying his own food and House's, instead of just having his own stolen by the diagnostician. "We need to talk about where you'll be staying once you get released.

"I thought that should seem obvious." House said through a full mouth. His awful table manners were one personality trait House had held on to. Wilson merely tilted his head, waiting for House to continue. "Well, I mean, I'm staying with you, aren't I? It's where I stayed when I got out of Mayfield."

Wilson smirked. Sometimes he forgot how perceptive his friend was.

"Well... yeah. I was wondering if you'd be alright with staying with me for awhile while you adjust to the normal life again. And until you finish your physical therapy." Wilson offered. House nodded.

"Sounds good to me."

And that had been the end of it.

Wilson was still getting used to how easy things were with House now. There was no challenging, no psycho-analyzing about how Wilson had wanted him to move in because he secretly wanted to have sex with his mother, anything like that. It was a relief, and it made things simpler... but at the same time it was disappointing. He always expected House to fight back, take the hard way every single time, be... a jerk.

He wished he would have valued House more before the accident... instead of trying to change him, he wished he would have just taken the time to value who his friend was as a person.

Wilson had to admit now... he had often complained about House's shoddy friendship, but now that his eyes had turned back to himself, he realized that he hadn't been the kind of friend to House that he could have been.

This time around, he vowed to change that.


	17. Release

**Chapter 17: Release**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.**

* * *

"Today's the big day." Wilson announced cheerily as he walked into House's room, a bagel with cream cheese for himself and a chicken salad sandwich in tow for House.

"Yep." House responded. He gratefully accepted the sandwich from him, sinking his teeth into it before Wilson even had a chance to sit down. Wilson lowered himself into the bedside chair, once again noticing that the new House was not prone to long winded answers.

A trained eye could tell that the room was about to be vacated. The various things that Wilson had brought House from his apartment were packed in a new backpack, since House's had been destroyed in the accident. The room looked much neater than usual, and the extra chairs and white board were gone. The white board was now back to it's usual place in the differential room, where the team was settling back in. They were hunting for their third case, having discharged their second patient since House's awakening the afternoon before. House had another one of his last minute epiphanies.

Behind closed doors, Wilson had asked Chase how he would feel if House resumed his position as head of diagnostics. His response had been simple.

"If?"

They all knew, every one of them, that if House got his medical license back, he would lead. Chase didn't seem to have a problem with it.

Of course, it didn't seem like Chase had much of a problem with anything these days. The surgeon was almost unfailingly cheery. He and Thirteen had been dating for the past month, and both of the doctors seemed almost like different people. Chase seemed to be down right glowing. Thirteen laughed more often, smiled more... he was happy for the both of them, but it still caused a pang in his heart. They reminded him of how he and Amber had been, before she died.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he took a bite of his bagel, leaning back in his chair.

"This is the first time you'll get to see anything outside the hospital." Wilson commented. House nodded, his cheeks puffed with food. He opened his mouth to respond, but Wilson held up a hand. "God, House, you've got to stop talking with your mouth full." House paused, swallowed, then answered.

"Did I not do that before?" He asked.

"Oh, you did. But you wouldn't have cared that it was disgusting then." Wilson said with a hint of amusement.

"Sorry, table manners aren't my strong suit, now or then." House said with a shrug. "But, yeah, I get to see the outside today."

"You excited?" Wilson asked. House nodded.

"Yeah. Honestly, I'm more excited to see my apartment than anything else." He admitted. Wilson had told him they would need to stop there before heading to Wilson's to grab House's clothes and other various possessions.

"Why?" Wilson asked. He had taken up to asking House about his motives for a lot of things now, trying to get a fuller understanding of how the new House's mind operated.

"Maybe it'll help me see through the wall." He answered. Ah. The wall. This was what House called the imagined wall between his current memories of the past month, and who he was now, and the man he had been and life he had lived for the past fifty years. "At the very least, it'll help me get a better idea of who I was before the crash."

"My descriptions not detailed enough for you?" Wilson joked between bites of bagel. House smiled slightly.

"Someone's home can show you things that words can't. That's why we search patient's homes." He said with another shrug.

"I thought that was because everybody lies?" Wilson asked. He had told House about his slogan, of course.

"That too." He responded.

"Even me?" Wilson asked, cocking an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I'm sure you've omitted some information about me. Or accidentally left some out. It sounded like I was a complicated man. The kind of man that even his best friend doesn't quite understand." House explained.

Wilson smiled in spite of himself. House had kind of hit the nail on the head with that one. Despite their twenty years together, sometimes House's actions would simply mystify Wilson. House was unpredictable, and Wilson had always found that to be one of his best and worst qualities.

"I'm also looking forward to seeing _your_ apartment." House added in an offhand voice. Wilson tilted his head, waiting for his friend to continue. "I want to understand you better." He elaborated, and Wilson thought he noticed a small bit of embarrassment in his demeanor. "You're my best friend, and I've only known you for a month." Wilson nodded.

"Well... why don't I describe me how you would have?" An idea came to him with a wave of nostalgia over the many times House had analyzed him, summing up who he was in a hundred words or less. Wilson had often gotten annoyed when he had done this, but if House wanted to understand him better, he could think of no better way than to describe himself than in House's own words.

"Alright." House agreed, ignoring the remnants of his sandwich and leaning forward slightly, blue eyes glimmering with interest.

"Let's see..." Wilson rifled through his memories, trying to compile House's many analyzations over the years. "Ahem." He cleared his throat jokingly, adopting a voice that he hoped sounded vaguely like the old House's. "Deep down, Wilson believes if he cares enough, he'll never have to die. He needs neediness, he feeds off of it like a junkie. He's a moralizing, rationalizing, doormat who gets too invested in his marriage, friendships, and his precious tumor ridden patients. His persona adjusts to whoever he happens to be around at the time, delicately calibrating his level of care for your personal needs, hence why he's stuck paying three alimonies. He believes he has to be a saint or the world will come crashing down around him and his naive views of human kindness and unconditional love will tumble down with it." He finished, shaking his head slightly. House wasn't one to mince words.

House stared at him.

"Did I really say all of that to you?" He asked.

"I paraphrased slightly, but yeah, at one point or another." Wilson shrugged. "You were right about some of it, wrong about other parts."

"I still don't get why you were friends with me." House said in astonishment. "I treated you like crap." Wilson shrugged again, but felt a spark of defensiveness in him.

"You made my life interesting. And you treated me better than you treated anyone else." That wasn't saying much, but that was how House showed affection for someone. Not treating them as crappy as he treated the rest of the human race.

House didn't respond, instead biting the inside of his lip, getting his distant "I'm thinking." look. Wilson smiled tightly before standing up.

"I'm going to go get your discharge papers from Cuddy. I'll be back in a bit and we can head out." He told him as he tossed the edge of his bagel in the trash. House nodded as Wilson opened the door and stepped out, letting it close behind him and leaving House alone.

**xxxxxx **

He was going to leave the hospital, which in it's essence was pretty much his entire world. He had never been anywhere else in his short, month-long life.

House was going from laying in a hospital bed for sixty percent of the day, being waited on hand and foot, and lending some help to the differentials, to being released out into a world he had no idea how to maneuver in.

It was one of those moments where he was really glad he had Wilson. He'd be lost out there without his best friend to guide him. He was still thinking about his discussion with Wilson... he was constantly faced with more evidence about what a jerk he used to be, despite his friends constantly reassuring him that he had plenty of good qualities.

He supposed he must have been okay in some ways, because sometimes he caught a look in either Wilson or Cuddy's eyes that showed such strong pain and loss that he realized how much they must have loved and cared about the old House.

House wished he could give them what they want; to have the old him back. But he couldn't. He simply wasn't that person anymore.

House sighed, shifting under his bed sheets and placing a hand on his still tender rib cage. He would need to take it easy for the next two weeks, but they were mostly healed. It was nice being able to move his upper body without sharp, twisting pains shooting through him.

Although that pain had receded to a dull throbbing, a new pain had arisen. The intense therapy had let him regain some feeling in his legs, and limited movement in his toes. With the new feeling came pain. Specifically a hard, stabbing pain in his thigh muscle.

He suddenly understood why in the past he had been addicted to narcotics.

Roughly two weeks after he had woken up, he asked to be taken off of the morphine. Dr. Collins had been apprehensive, saying his dose was low and wasn't really doing any damage. House had been adamant. He wanted clarity. He couldn't get clarity on morphine.

Now he was taking gabapentin for the pain, which was pretty much useless considering that most of his pain wasn't caused by nerve damage. He just didn't want anything narcotic. House didn't want to be the person he had been before.

However, massaging his thigh muscle, he wished he had something stronger. He could have dealt with the pain much more easily if it hadn't been so relentless. Never pausing, never lessening, just continually paining him.

It sucked. But he didn't let it show. He didn't want his friends to worry.

He had to scrunch up his face to hide the pain when Wilson walked back in, clothes for House's discharge slung over his shoulder.

"Ready to get dressed?" He asked. House nodded. Wilson no longer had to lift House from the bed, since House could used his arms to get himself into a sitting position, and all Wilson had to do was tug him from the bed into the wheelchair. It was marginally less demeaning. House hated needing help for almost everything. Now that both of his arms were in better shape, he could wheel himself around in his wheelchair fairly well, though it pained his left arm, which had not yet completely healed. That was why Wilson almost always insisted on pushing House around in the wheelchair. He didn't like it, but he knew it made his friend feel like he was helping, doing something, so he let it pass.

Wilson let House take off his hospital gown by himself, and then looked away from Wilson embarrassedly as his friend silently tugged his boxers up his legs for him, quickly followed by his favorite pair of jeans. Wilson stepped back, swallowing awkwardly as he averted his eyes. This was another moment when he wished for the old House to make a gay joke to break the uneasiness.

House buttoned and zipped his jeans, and scooped the belt from his bed, fumbling with it for a moment before managing to get it through all of his belt loops. Next came a plain white tee shirt, quickly followed by House's favorite blue button up. _The old House's favorite. _Wilson reminded himself.

Seeing House in his own clothes for the first time was... weird. It was like he had put back another piece to the broken jigsaw puzzle that was his best friend.

House looked up at him expectantly, blue eyes rendered even brighter in the fluorescent lights of the hospital. "Shall we?" House asked. Wilson smiled.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here."

**xxxxxx **

House took a heavy sniff of the air, relishing in the fresh and wild scent of late summer. Gone was the stale and sanitized scent of his hospital room. As Wilson wheeled him to his car, House couldn't help but notice that the smell of the outside reminded him eerily of Cuddy's scent. He smiled to himself as he thought of this.

A light breeze ruffled his hair, and he shut his eyes contentedly. God, it was so nice to be away from the hospital...

"House?" Wilson asked. He opened his eyes to see his friend's worried face. They were by a car now, which he assumed was Wilson's.

"I'm fine. Just enjoying the nice day." He assured him. Wilson smiled.

"Here, I'll help you into the car." Bracing himself against the open passenger door and sliding House's wheelchair up next to it, he assisted House in transferring from the wheelchair to the passenger seat. House winced at a searing pang in his leg, but quickly covered it as Wilson slid into the driver's seat.

"Home, James." House quipped with a sideways smirk at Wilson. Wilson laughed.

"You can't remember fifty years of your life, but you can remember movie quotes..." He shook his head as he pulled out of PPTH parking lot.

"Not my fault you've turned me into a movie buff." House said.

The ride to Wilson's was enjoyable. House took in every inch of Princeton, trying to commit it to memory. He had so much empty space in his brain, and he desperately wanted to fill it. He wondered which shops and restaurants had been his typical haunts as they drove through downtown Princeton.

Fifteen minutes later, Wilson pulled up in front of an apartment building. Dark green on the outside, with lots of windows and a pair of stone steps leading up to thick wooden doors. They were on Baker Street.

"Welcome home, House."

**xxxxxx **

Not handicap accessible. Shit.

Wilson rested his head against the wall, breathing harshly. He ended up having to carry House up the steps of his house, not wanting to just leave him outside. Thank God he had lost weight in the hospital, but it was still a painful struggle getting him up the stone steps to his apartment. He had gone back and grabbed House's wheelchair immediately afterwards.

House was fitting the new key Wilson had had made (the other one had gotten destroyed in the crash) into the door, and with a soft click, the door swung open. Sucking in another deep breath, Wilson tailed House into the apartment.

It looked the same as ever, although much dustier than usual. It was exactly how House had left it, only interrupted once by Wilson coming to grab some of his things after he had woken up. A half empty glass of long spoiled scotch sat on the table, accompanied by the necessary bottle. The warm earth tones still created a surprisingly stylish combination in the apartment. The bookshelves were stuffed with medical texts, very little fiction found it's home there. Empty take out boxes still resided in the trash can.

It almost looked as though House had never left. But House in the wheelchair next to him and the thick layer of dust reminded him of all that had changed over the summer.

"Alright... I'm going to go grab your clothes." Wilson said, ruffling the back of his own hair awkwardly as he stepped past House and trotted through the familiar living room and into House's bedroom.

He gathered all of House's usual garments. Button ups, vintage band tee shirts, jeans, sports coats. He gathered House's suitcases from the closet and stuffed almost all of his clothes into them, excepting a few ties and a turtle neck he'd only seen him wear twice. He tossed in all of House's boxers and five or six pairs of white socks. After a moment of deliberation, he grabbed a couple of House's records and gingerly placed them into the larger suitcase. He had yet to find out if the old House's taste in music matched the old one's.

Just as Wilson was about to head to the hallway closet to grab a pair of sneakers for House, he heard a familiar twinkle from the living room. Blinking in surprise, he leaned out of the bedroom doorway to see what House was doing.

House had moved himself from his wheelchair to his piano bench on his own, showing how well the muscle rehab was going. He sat there, his blue eyes sparkling in a way he hadn't seen in a very long time. He saw his friend's lip curve in a ghost of a smile as he tapped out a slow, melancholy tune on the piano. Although slightly stilted at parts, and with fingers not as confident as they had been before, House's playing still sent shivers up his spine.

Once again, the old House and new House seemed to clash in front of him, and his need for the old one and care for the new one battled each other within his heart.

House didn't know he was watching, and Wilson was glad as he felt one hot tear leak out of his eye.


	18. Trump Card

**Chapter 18: Trump Card**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD!**

* * *

"You know he can do it." Wilson insisted in a strained voice. He and Hennessy were sitting together in her office, she was sitting behind her desk with her hands clasped together, looking intently at him with her misty green eyes, and he was sitting in the small and uncomfortable chair directly in front of her desk. Despite her short stature, in that particular moment, he felt rather intimidated by her.

"I haven't seen him interact with the real world, or really handle cases yet-" She began, looking conflicted.

"He's solved the past two the team's had!" Wilson exclaimed. "What more proof do you need? He's still a genius, and he's in full control of his faculties." This was the first step on the long road of getting House his license back.

"He can operate from a hospital bed, but that's not proof he can handle the real world again." She said gently, not wanting to upset him. Wilson grimaced.

"He can." Wilson argued. "His main goal right now is to get his medical license back, and fast. Just tell us what do to."

"Us?" She observed. Wilson stifled a sigh. Wilson had been around Hennessy enough in the last month to know that her inner psychologist came out quite a bit. For instance, she tended to latch on to people's choice of words frequently, digging down for deeper meaning in them.

"We're living together, I have to help him because of his legs... we're a team." He said, shrugging his shoulders and flushing. It sounded so ridiculous, but it was pretty much true. House needed Wilson more than ever... and although it was only emotional on Wilson's end, he felt the same.

"I see." She responded, still considering him. "I have a proposition for you, Dr. Wilson." Wilson leaned forward.

"Alright..." He shifted in the small chair, waiting for Hennessy to continue.

"If I talk to the licensing board, I can get House his license back on a probationary basis. The only catch is I have to prove that he is absolutely one hundred percent capable of being a doctor. If House works with the team on the next case, and he cures their patient without any ethics breaches-" Wilson raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, Wilson, do you really think I wouldn't check House's files? The guy was getting lawsuits left and right." Wilson nodded.

"He can't treat without a license. Is he just going to consult?"

"Yes." She affirmed. "The problem is, if I observe, those on the licensing board who have issues with doctor House could bring up that he would act differently if he knew he was being observed."

"You know he wouldn't change-"

"_I_ know that, and they probably know that too... but you know for a fact that House has made plenty of enemies over the course of his time here. We need irrefutable proof that House is ready to take over diagnostics again. We need a trump card." She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. She reached into her desk and pulled out two small video cameras.

"You're going to film him?" Wilson asked, picking one of the small gray objects and twisting it in his hand.

"Without his knowledge, yes." Hennessy affirmed. "This is it, Wilson. If House doesn't know he's being filmed and solves this case without making a scene, and you, Dr. Cuddy and I all back him, House could have his license back within the next two weeks." She smiled wider. "It's perfect." Wilson gaped at her, placing the camera back on her desk.

"You're right... it is." He conceded.

"Has House's team found their next case yet?" She asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

"They've been looking since yesterday, I think they would have called if they found something, but I'll drop by Diagnostics and see if they've found anything." He told her, making a move to get up.

"Excellent, here-" She shoved the two cameras at him. "Put one in the differential room and one in Chase's office. Just press the green button on the side. They're long life batteries, should last a week and a half."

"House's cases never last more than a week. Their patients are either dead or cured by then." Wilson said as he scooped up the cameras. They were small enough to fit in his pocket.

"Good, good. Just put them somewhere they won't be found or disturbed." She warned. Wilson nodded.

"Will do. I'll talk to you later."

"Looking forward to it." She said, smiling again. She really did have a nice smile.

Opening her office door, he stepped out into the second floor hallway, stretching and yawning. He and House had been up late last night talking. The new House wasn't usually talkative, but when he saw Wilson's apartment he seemed inspired. He felt like he had basically given House a blow by blow of the past two years, starting when he had undercut Cuddy for the loft.

Wilson was happy he was asking more questions, though. Maybe the more House connected the timeline in his head, the more he would feel in touch with his old self. He hoped.

He wasn't particularly comfortable leaving House to his own devices at the moment, having only been out of the hospital for roughly twenty four hours... he needed to head home.

**xxxxxx **

_**One week later... **_

House nervously straightened his tie, glancing around at the twelve officials on the licensing board, plus Cuddy, Wilson, and Hennessy.

Today was the day... his hopes of getting his job back were riding on this meeting... Hennessy had assured him that she had their trump card. His eyes darted immediately to her when she rose, clearing her throat slightly. The murmured conversations around the room abruptly broke off, and Hennessy addressed the head of the licensing board, an elderly man whom House couldn't have placed even if he had wanted to.

"Ladies, gentleman, today we're here to discuss whether Dr. Gregory House is fit to have his medical license reassigned. As his attending psychologist, I am here to testify that Dr. House is perfectly capable of resuming his station as head of Diagnostic Medicine." She was good at this, House could tell. She made eye contact individually with each person at the table, her eyes honest and genuine. She spoke clearly and concisely, only occasionally glancing down at her notes. "It's undeniable that Dr. House is just as fit as he was before his unfortunate accident to occupy the post. It's abundantly clear that despite his brain injury, he has perfectly retained his medical training, which, might I add, includes a double specialty in Infectious Disease and Nephrology-"

"Yes, yes, we're quite familiar with Dr. House's qualifications. Most of us are on either the board of directors, transplant board, or disciplinary board... the latter members of which are very, very familiar with Dr. House." The old man grouched, looking impatient and surly. "Dr. House experienced traumatic brain trauma. I highly doubt he's within his capabilities to treat a patient."

"I thought you might say something like that." Hennessy said, looking as though she was suppressing a self-satisfied grin.

"Oh?" The old man asked. House squinted, trying to read the man's name tag. It read 'Ericson'.

"Yes. You see, I was originally going to merely observe while Dr. House consulted on a case with his new team. But then, I could be considered biased by skewing the results, or Dr. House could be accused of acting differently under scrutiny..." She pulled a DVD out of her pocket, placing it on the desk. "So I filmed him for the past week without his knowledge."

There were actually a few mild gasps from around the table, and all eyes were on Hennessy.

Including House's, which were wide with indignation at not being informed of being filmed.

_But it's really the best way, isn't it? Irrefutable proof that I'm ready for this..._

"Ethics considered, maybe filming him without his permission was rude, but I think given the circumstances Dr. House will let it pass." Hennessy glanced down at House for approval, and he gave her a half smile, showing her that he wasn't too upset with her. "So, if you'll all agree to watch it, we can see exactly how fit Dr. House is to begin working again. Obviously he had no contact with the patient, ran no tests or participated in surgery, but he did consult. In a moment you'll see how invaluable that consult was." A small wheel-in TV had been brought into the conference room. Hennessy strolled over and popped the DVD into the disc tray, also turning on the TV. House dared a glance at Wilson before the DVD started up. Wilson's warm eyes met his own, and he winked at him.

_He knew!_

Frowning slightly he turned his eyes to the TV screen to see just how invaluable he was.

On screen, he saw Thirteen, Chase, and Taub sitting around the differential table. Chase was writing on the board. He wrote "Lung Collapse" in his neat hand writing. He turned to the others, about to speak, when the differential room door opened to reveal Wilson pushing House through the door.

"Hey guys." Wilson greeted them. The team responded in kind, and Chase smiled at House.

"You going to consult again?" He asked. House nodded.

"Yeah, if you're okay with it. More cases I help with, the quicker I can get my license back." House took a glance back at Wilson, and Wilson released the handles of his wheelchair. House wheeled himself up to the table next to Thirteen.

"I'm fine with it." Chase said, stepping away from the board and tossing House the patient file, which House deftly caught with his good arm. Chase's eyes darted to Wilson.

"Are you going to stay as well, Wilson?" Chase asked Wilson, who was still standing there. He shuffled awkwardly.

"Uh, no... I've got to work. If you guys need anything, you know where to find me." He cast House a worried, lingering look before exiting the room, leaving House with his old team.

"So, lung collapse?" House asked, breaking the silence.

"Healthy thirty six year old male, lung collapsed for no reason. Question is, why?" Chase asked. "Any ideas?"

"Asthma makes the most sense." Taub said, flipping through the file.

"Check the chest x-ray. No hyperinflation." Chase said, brows furrowed in concentration as he examined the patient's chart. House was doing the same with a similar look on his face.

"Food allergy. Maybe he ate peanuts or shellfish?" Thirteen proposed.

"No hives, no signs of erythema on this skin." Chase pointed out.

"Pulmonary embolism, then?" She responded, folding her hands in front of her and looking up at Chase.

"It fits, but unfortunately pulmonary embolisms don't just magically dissolve."

"Laryngospasm. Says here the patient was stocking the freezer in his restaurant when his lung collapsed. Cold air hits his vocal chords, they spasm shut and choke him out." House offered. All three of them looked at him for a moment. Chase was the first to reply.

"Makes sense, but regardless I think the next step is a methacoline challenge." Chase said, setting down the file.

"Catch whatever it is in the act, see if it sets of a spasm." Taub elaborated. "I'll go do it." The screen went black.

"Dr. Taub ran the methacholine challenge and returned to the differential room with the results." Hennessy narrated as the screen lit up again. Taub entered the differential room.

"Tidal volume held at 1.2." He shared as he sat back down at the table. "It's not a laryngospasm... but we have a new symptom."

"What?" Chase asked.

"Cold agglutinins indicated his blood's thickened to sludge. His body can't regulate his temperature. He's going to freeze to death if we don't do something." Taub told them, sighing.

"File says he was in the freezer of his restaurant when his lung collapsed. How long was he in there for until someone found him?" Thirteen asked.

"His brother was stocking it with him. As soon as the respiratory collapse started he moved him back into the restaurant and called an ambulance." Chase explained.

"This means infection." House said, subconsciously playing with a rip on the arm of his wheelchair.

"No fever, so it must be small. Hard to find." Chase added.

"Well, we need to find it fast." Thirteen said.

"We need to run blood cultures-" Taub began.

"You can't. Blood's too clumpy from the agglutinins. Cultures would be useless." House interrupted.

"We warm him up, then." Chase suggested. "We wrap him in a heating blanket to thin out his blood." House nodded in response.

"You should ultrasound his abdomen as well, check for infectious abscesses." House recommended.

"We should check his home, too." Thirteen said. "I'll handle that."

"Alright. I'll do the ultrasound; Taub, you draw his blood and run the cultures." Chase ordered. Affirmation from around the table. Chase hesitated as he stood up. Thirteen and Taub were already out the door.

"House..." He began, but House waved him off.

"Chase, it's fine. I can't practice. Don't feel guilty." He assured him. Chase blinked, seeming to forget how insightful his boss was. "Go. Patient dying and whatnot." Chase nodded before hurrying after his colleagues.

Black screen.


	19. Proving Ground

**Chapter 19: Proving Ground**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD! **

* * *

"And the next differential..."

"Blood cultures are clean, but he's got a lesion on his liver." Chase told the gathering in the differential room.

"Is it cystic or solid?" House asked. Chase handed him the results of the ultrasound.

"Looks solid." Chase conveyed. "We need a biopsy to rule out-"

"Cancer." House finished. His eyes flashed. "We need an oncologist." Thirteen smirked.

"I wonder where we could get one of those?" She wondered mockingly.

"I'll get him." House offered, wheeling himself out of the room. The screen blanked.

"I figured it was unnecessary to show the film when Dr. House wasn't present. Now we pick up several minutes later when Dr. Wilson arrives." Hennessy told the board as the screen reignited, showing Wilson and House entering the differential room for the second time.

"So, you're thinking cancer?" Wilson asked, not looking up from the chart House had given him.

"Yeah. Liver cancer that metastasized to his lungs, causing the respiratory distress. What do you think?"

"Generally liver cancer doesn't display itself in such a large mass without serious hepatic symptoms." Wilson muttered as House wheeled himself back to the table. "I can handle the biopsy for you though, to be safe." He said, looking up.

"Thanks, Wilson." Chase said. Wilson smiled and strolled out of the room.

"Alright, while Wilson does that, what are the other possibilities?" Chase asked, adding "Liver lesion" to the board to sit alongside "Lung Collapse" and "Cold agglutinins".

"It might be an abscess." Taub said.

"The biopsy would show that as well." Chase pointed out.

"Not if it was a vascular hemangioma." House began, his blue eyes getting that distant thinking look. "Aspirate that, and he'll bleed out. You'll kill him."

"We have to do the biopsy. If we catch the cancer early, he's still got a fighting chance. We'll have to risk him bleeding out and hope Wilson can stop it fast enough to save him." Taub said, running a hand through his thin hair. "House, can you text him and warn him it might be a hemangioma?"

"Yeah, give me a second." House responded, pulling out the small prepaid phone Wilson had bought him as a temporary means of communication until House got a permanent one. House tapped out a quick message to Wilson, then pocketed his phone again.

"Did you find anything in his home?" Chase directed the question at Thirteen, who shook her head.

"No. I didn't find anything that explains his symptoms." She answered.

"There's really nothing more to be done until we get the results from the liver biopsy, then. Then we'll know whether it's cancer, an abscess, or a hemangioma." Chase said, sighing.

"And now we skip forward to when Dr. Wilson returned with the result of the liver biopsy..." Hennessy commented.

"Biopsy didn't show what we expected." Wilson said as the image of the differential room returned. "Biopsy turned up what looks to be black pus."

"So some kind of fungus?" Taub wondered aloud.

"I didn't find anything in his house, where would he get a fungal infection?" Thirteen asked, tapping her pen on the table.

"Regardless of what the catalyst was, amphotericin should cure him. If we start him now, we'll know within the hour if his symptoms are caused by the fungus." House said decisively. Chase nodded.

"He's right, start him on amphotericin."

Black screen.

"Whatever he's got, it's not fungal." Thirteen said as the screen returned once more. "The rash from the cold agglutinins is worse, and his body temperature's plummeted. We have to figure out what's wrong with him fast before he dies, or at least warm him up some how."

"What about the fungus in his liver?" Taub asked. "If that's not causing it-"

"It wasn't fungus." House spoke up suddenly. "It's coagulated blood caused by the cold agglutinins. Lab results will agree." Thirteen hesitated slightly at this before placing a chart on the table.

"House is right. It wasn't pus." She confirmed, taking her seat. "So, what now?"

"Broad spectrum antibiotics are having no effect..." Chase said. "Means it's viral or exotic bacterial."

"Exotic bacterial isn't likely, patient hasn't gone anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon line in the entirety of his life." Taub commented. "Still possible though."

"We need to run the blood cultures again." Chase decided. "We could have missed something."

"Sounds like our only option at this point." Thirteen agreed. "But we have to figure out a way to warm him up, or he'll be dead in a few hours, diagnosis or not."

There was a long moment of thick, contemplative silence in the room.

"Lipopolysaccharide." House burst out. "We inject it intravenously, warm him up from the inside."

"That'll give him a fever on top of his other symptoms." Taub said. "Not to mention if he hits 110 it could fry his brain."

"It will also keep his blood flowing and keep him alive." House retorted, though with none of the typical acid or sarcasm that was once characteristic of him. Chase considered House for a long moment.

"He's right, run the cultures and start him on LPS."

Silence, black screen.

"And now we pick back up as the patient's condition worsened." Hennessey voiced.

"Cardiac arrest. We were able to shock him back to normal sinus rhythm." It was Thirteen speaking as the screen returned.

"We have to figure out what's causing the infection before his heart stops again." Taub elaborated needlessly. "And there's nothing on the blood draws."

"Run it again, quadruple run time." Chase said. "Other ideas?"

"We need to do a heart biopsy. That's obviously where the infection's at. Polys mean bacterial, lymphs mean viral." House said.

"We just had a heart attack... is taking out a piece really the best idea?" Taub worried.

"It's the only way." House shrugged. Chase nodded at Taub.

Black screen. House tensed, they were getting close to the end.

"Now, while Dr. Hadley and Dr. Taub were running the biopsy, Dr. House and Dr. Chase were discussing the case in Dr. Chase's office."

And that was what appeared on the screen. House sitting across from Chase, who was behind his desk.

"Do you think the biopsy will turn anything up?" Chase asked.

"I hope so. But I doubt it... this disease, it's like a burglar. Leaves no fingerprints behind..." He trailed off, seeming to lose focus.

"House?" Chase asked.

"His restaurant!"

"What?"

"His restaurant, what kind is it? What do they serve?" House asked quickly, wheeling around in his wheelchair to imitate pacing.

"Uh... a steakhouse. Why?"

"Do they serve pork products?" House asked in an urgent voice.

"I think so..." House froze, his mind seeming to spin.

"We have to stop the biopsy."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't need it!"

Black screen. Hennessy turned away from the screen.

"The reason Dr. House was so urgent to stop the biopsy was because he believed that the patient, one Marcus Victoire, had an eperythrozoon infection caused by pigs that weren't properly sanitized before slaughter, thus retaining bacteria that thrived in their feces. Mr. Victoire personally went to the slaughterhouse to pick out the pigs he wanted to serve his customers, thus catching the infection. Doing the heart biopsy would have caused the infection to spread farther than the lungs and heart, becoming a global infection. The biopsy was stopped just in time. Mr. Victoire was started on a course of clarithromycin, and he was released last night, cured... because of Dr. House."

Silence. The board members were glancing at each other. Wilson and House exchanged a nervous look, and House found his heart beating irregularly fast. _Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask..._

"How exactly was the biopsy stopped?" Ericson rasped, leaning back in his chair.

"Dr. Chase rushed down to the ICU to stop the biopsy." She answered a little too quickly.

"Dr. Hennessy, you have edited quite a bit of content out of this film, correct?" He asked.

"There were hours of tape absolutely irrelevant to this meeting." She said, a cool professionalism seeping into her usually warm tone.

"Is there anything on there that you wouldn't want us to see, by any chance?" He asked, suspiciously.

_Crap, crap, crap! _House tensed in his wheelchair.

"If you feel like watching almost one hundred hours of utterly useless footage, go ahead. If you write down your email, I'll forward the footage to you immediately." She said with a shrug.

_What is she doing?!_

A hard stare was exchanged between Ericson and Hennessy. House and Wilson were on the edge of their seats.

"I think that will be unnecessary." He clapped his hands together. "We'll reconvene at eight o'clock this evening and inform you of our decision."

House stifled a loud sigh of relief, and he assumed that Cuddy, Wilson, and Hennessy did as well.

"Thank you for your time." House said courteously, bowing his head as he began to wheel out into the hallway, followed closely by his friends.

"Let's head to my office, we'll talk there." Wilson said, just loud enough for the three of them to hear. And they did so. Heading to the elevators, they took a quick ride to the proper floor, and stepped out and hurried to Wilson's office. Wilson was the last in, shutting the door carefully behind him.

"What the hell was that?!" Wilson exploded as the door clicked shut. House was equally upset, but decided to let Wilson to handle things for the time being. He wheeled up next to Wilson's desk, next to Cuddy, who was sitting on the edge. Hennessy sighed and plunged down on the couch.

"I'm assuming you're referring to me pretty much offering the footage to the licensing board?" She asked. Wilson jerked his head.

"Um... _yeah_. If Ericson would have seen that..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"I had to act like I was okay with him seeing it, I had to show that I-" She paused. "_we_, have nothing to hide... even if we do."

"Thank God he didn't take the bait, or House's medical license would be six feet under, along with yours." Cuddy muttered tiredly.

"If someone had bothered to warn me that I was being filmed-" House started, but Wilson cut him off.

"You would have acted the same way... you saved your patient. I just wish you would have done that without running over Chase's foot and bursting into a sterile room unscrubbed." Wilson said, running a hand through his bronze hair. "We need to delete that footage."

"I'll delete it as soon as I'm home, all of it. That way if they ask I'll just say that I saw no further need to have it on my computer." Hennessy decided. Wilson nodded.

"Sorry I flipped out... I just-" He glanced at House.

"Yeah. I understand." Hennessy said quickly, standing up abruptly. "Listen, I really got to get home and delete that sh- stuff." She winced. Wilson smirked. Being around Hennessy frequently had shown him that the young doctor sometimes slipped in her seemingly unfailing professionalism. She had revealed in confidence that she actually had quite a potty mouth, and had trouble reigning it in at work.

"Thanks for everything you've done, Hennessy. Thanks to you conspiring with us, House might get his license back." Wilson said.

"Yes. Thank you." House added.

"Same from me." Cuddy stated. Hennessy gave them a broad, awkward smile before she stepped out of the room.

"And thank you guys. You've been doing everything to get my license back." House said, shifting in his chair. He was really overwhelmed by how far his friends were willing to go to help him. Cuddy merely smiled at him.

"No problem, House. We're here to help you." Wilson responded. House gave him a half-hearted smile in response. Once again, he was grateful for Cuddy and Wilson's help, he wouldn't be able to survive without it...

But privately, he looked forward to the day where he no longer needed their help.

**xxxxxx **

"We have heavily considered the evidence presented to us by the four of you, and we have taken all of your recommendations into consideration, along with the film you showed us earlier." Ericson began. The sun had just passed down below the hills, snuffing out the last bit of daylight. The conference room felt dark and stifling. They sat in the same place they had earlier in the day. House leaned forward, intent on hearing every word. _Here we go..._

"We have decide to give Dr. House his license back on a strictly probationary basis. Any ethical breaches or other infractions will result in it being immediately rescinded. We would like a month trial period before Dr. House gets his license back in full, and is permitted to take control of diagnostics. Until then, he'll be working under Dr. Chase." Ericson said, seeming slightly irritated.

Wilson laughed with relief next to him, Cuddy smiled widely and gripped his hand under the table, sending a warm tingle through him. He saw that Hennessy remained impassive, but he saw her give him a sideways glance and a quick thumbs up.

"Thank you." House breathed, trying to suppress his own emotions. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

"You are welcome." Ericson replied stiffly. "Dr. House, you will be added once more to the Princeton payroll in one week's time, but you may remain as an unpaid consult until that time." House nodded, knowing that was exactly what he was going to do.

Wilson rolled him out of the room, and House could tell he was speaking, but caught little of what he said.

He was numb with happiness, he was positively ecstatic. Only one thought went through his mind.

_One step closer..._


	20. Back in the Saddle

**Chapter 20: Back in the Saddle**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD.**

* * *

_Six weeks later... _

Chase had been waiting for House to bring it up all week. The old House would have usurped his control of the department the second he was able, but House hadn't brought it up until a week after his probation ended.

They had just discharged their last patient. House's epiphany. No surprises. It was a late summer afternoon, and a gentle stream of sunlight peaked through the blinds on the window in his office. He smirked to himself as he thought that. It was never really his office. He was basically borrowing it from House. He had moved some of House's things into boxes so he could put what he needed to in the desk, but most of House's possessions were still in and on the desk or surrounding area. His red and white tennis ball sat untouched in it's usual spot.

House sat in his wheelchair, tapping out a disorganized rhythm on the table with his knuckles. His blue eyes flashed around the room. It was remarkable how much better House looked than he had even when he was walking and not brain damaged. His hair was neatly brushed, his beard trimmed, and his skin was tan and healthy, although the deeper color of his skin made the rippling scar on his face stand out in sharp relief. He was now cast free, and he had regained full use of both of his arms. He was also making great progress with his legs. With a good deal of sweat and effort, House could stand with the assistance of bars.

His taste in clothes hadn't changed. House was still garbed in a charcoal gray tee-shirt and a dark blue button up, accompanied by jeans and a pair of orange and gray sneakers. The only difference to his wardrobe were the black driving gloves House had on at all times to give him better grip on the wheels of his chair. His arm muscles were significantly more defined than they had been before. Chase would not want to arm wrestle with House. Also, Amber was curled up in his lap. Although at first the small cat had not taken to him (he had several painful looking scratches on his ankles to prove that fact), she had eventually warmed up to him. House's lap had replaced the recliner as her favorite place to sleep.

His boss looked... good. He was reminded of how House had looked after getting shot several years ago and he had received the kedomine treatment. House had told him that the pain in his thigh had returned, but he was managing it in his own way. To Chase's knowledge, House wasn't on anything stronger than aspirin.

House ceased his incessant tapping, instead folding his gloved hands in front of him.

"Chase." He said. That was it. Just his name. He felt rather naked as House's piercing eyes raked over him. "You haven't said anything." It was true. They'd been sitting there for about five minutes, and neither man had said a word. House had asked to talk to Chase, but it seemed as though he had expected Chase to start.

"What's there to say?" Chase asked. His voice wasn't angry. Just resigned.

"I'll only take over diagnostics if you're alright with it. If you can go back to being my subordinate. You're a great doctor, this department needs you." He began, voice calm. Chase blinked. _Right. New House._

"You don't want the job?" Chase asked, cocking his head, a blond bang falling into his eyes. House shook his head.

"I... didn't say that. I want to have my old job back, and my old position, and I think you'll agree that I'm qualified. But I don't want to-"

"House." Chase cut him off with a hand. It was stupid to keep going like this was even debatable. "There's a reason it's still your name on the door, still your stuff in the office. _You're_ head of diagnostics. I was just filling in." Chase gave House a sad smile. House's mouth hung open slightly.

"Chase..." House muttered as he absent mindedly scratched the back of his head. Chase rose from his chair, smiling slightly. He grabbed House's red tennis ball and tossed it to him. House snatched it in mid air, letting it rest on the tips of his fingers.

"This department is yours, House. It's always been yours." Chase considered him for a long moment. "I'll see you tomorrow, boss."

**xxxxxx **

House gripped the metal bars as he struggled to walk. His legs trembled under his weight, his thigh sending shocks up his body, causing him to grit his teeth so tightly that his jaw ached.

"You're doing great, Greg. Keep going." Dr. Harmon said as he laid a hand on House's shoulder, making sure he didn't fall. House had moved several inches from his starting position. The pain was worse today than it had been since he had woken up. He had felt fairly good all week, and this step backwards was frustrating.

"House, you can do it. I know it hurts but-"

"I don't need a cheerleader." House snapped, instantly regretting it as he did. "Sorry, it just... _hurts_. Worse than usual."

"It's okay, I get it." _No you don't. _With the increase of his leg pain as he continued with his therapy, he suddenly began to understand why the old him had been such a tremendous ass. The constant knife being dragged in and out of his leg made civility... difficult.

Another step forward. He groaned, his entire body tensing.

"Greg, you're supporting too much of your weight on your arms. Use the rails to steady you, not support you." Harmon chastised him gently in his deep voice. House laughed bitterly.

"That's going to be a little hard." He tried to ease his death grip on the bars, his legs threatening to fold underneath him. _No, no, no!_

He took a deep, shaky breath. He took another step. Then another. He closed his eyes as sweat dripped down his forehead. He was trying to distance himself from the pain. Focus on something, anything. Anything other than the pain.

Although he hadn't planned it that way, Cuddy's face swam to the center of his thoughts. _God, I'm worse than a love struck teenager. _

However, thoughts of Cuddy were a significant improvement to his mind being entombed in agony. He mustered all of the strength left inside of him. One step.

Two steps.

Three.

Four.

Five... and six. They weren't shuffling steps either. They were normal steps.

He made it to the end of the bars. House stood there, breathing a sigh of exertion, leaning forward, his head hanging down. He had made it. For the first time, he had made it. He let out a trembling laugh.

"Cool." He breathed. He straightened his back, standing to his full height, still gripping the bars. His knuckles were white. He braced himself to fall as he slowly released the bars.

He heard Wilson gasp behind him, and Harmon smiled brightly at him, removing his hand from House's shoulder. He heard footsteps behind him as Wilson hurried into his field of vision. Wilson clasped his shoulder.

"House... you're... standing!" He exclaimed, a surprised grin plastered on his face. House nodded.

"Yeah..." He was dragging in ragged breaths now. He wouldn't be able to hold himself up much longer. Satisfaction coursed through him. He was standing. By himself. With no assistance. He had gone from a barely alive shell in a hospital bed to standing on his own two feet in a matter of two and a half months. He smirked. The past months had been a series of small victories and big victories. This, getting his license back, and getting his job back ranked as the top three. "I think I need to sit down. Can you get my chair?" Wilson nodded quickly, bringing up his wheelchair. The blue sticker on the back read "I'd Rather Be Walking!" House gratefully sank into it, shaking with exhaustion.

"This progress is impressive. If you're willing, I'd like to see tomorrow how you handle a cane for short periods of time." Harmon said. House looked up at him.

"I can try a cane?" He asked to clarify. Harmon nodded, smiling.

"This is great!" Wilson declared, his hands holding the handles of House's chair.

"Doc, how fast do you think I could be back on my feet?" House asked, trying to keep the childish hope out of his voice. Harmon tilted his head, seeming to think for a moment.

"A week or two, under good circumstances, and if you're willing to deal with the pain..." He trailed off, folding his arms. "Speaking of pain, we need to talk about your pain management."

"What about it?" House asked, massaging his thigh as he did so.

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?" He asked, leaning back on one of the railings. House opened up his mouth, intending fully to lie, but Harmon held up a hand to stop him. "I need you to be honest with me, Greg."

House sighed deeply, considering his answer. He had a feeling Harmon would see through it if he lied now.

"An eight, today. Generally it's a six." He said quietly. Wilson bristled behind him.

"Why didn't you tell me it was hurting that bad?" Wilson asked indignantly.

"Because it doesn't matter." House muttered. "Complaining about it won't make it better."

"We could've..." The words died in Wilson's mouth. House knew that he was going to suggest what they could've done to help his leg, but then he realized that other than a hot bath and aspirin, there was nothing _to_ do.

"And this is why I'd like to talk about alternative methods of pain management." Harmon continued. "I know you have a history of addiction in the past, but I also know that you have no long term memory, and-"

"_No_." House said immediately. "No. I won't go on anything narcotic. I don't care if someone starts hacking my leg off with a meat cleaver, I will _not go back on vicodin_." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't be the person I was before."

"House, you weren't Lucifer." Wilson insisted. "You had issues. We all do."

"I was a self-destructive, arrogant, selfish ass." House said bitterly. "I'm not going back on pills, Dr. Harmon. That's non-negotiable." Harmon considered him for a long moment before nodding solemnly.

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow. Greg, James." He bid them farewell as they departed the therapy gym. House could tell Wilson was resisting the urge to push his wheelchair for him.

"House..." Wilson began as he wheeled himself down the hallway, heading towards his office. He savored the words in his head. _My office. _Today was his first case as head of diagnostics.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"Listen, I think you've got the wrong idea of who you were before all of this."

"Oh?" House asked. "I thought I got a pretty good grasp of him, me, whatever." He said, not sure of what pronoun to use.

"You act like you were some evil villain. You weren't, House. You saved me people for a living, I think that absolves you of at least a few of your less favorable traits." Wilson continued as they reached the elevators. The therapy gym was on the ground floor.

House merely shrugged, not really wanting to deal with one of the only annoying traits he had found in his friend: psychoanalyzing.

"It doesn't matter, anyway. I don't feel any attachment or familiarity with the person I was before. That part of me no longer exists." He said it nonchalantly, the words not holding any specific meaning for him, but he realized far too late that his words might have stung Wilson.

"Right." Wilson mumbled from beside him. As the doors binged open, he rubbed a hand over his face. "I've... I've got a patient. Got to go." And with that, Wilson walked off toward the oncology ward. House mentally kicked himself for his lack of tact. _Maybe I haven't changed that much._

Frustrated, he wheeled himself to his office. The team was inside waiting in the differential room. Two boxes sat on House's desk, containing his possessions that Chase had set aside during his absence. Chase himself was with Taub and Thirteen, seeming perfectly comfortable to be House's subordinate once more. House, in spite of himself, smiled slightly. He felt like this was a key step in finding himself. Forming who he was, without the drugs and bitter memories.

**xxxxxx **

Wilson sat in a stall in the bathroom, head in his hands. He wasn't crying, but emotion tore through his chest. He didn't know why, but when House said what he did, he felt like that was the final nail in the coffin of his best friend, put in by his new self. House wasn't a whole new animal, there were some similarities between old and new, but there were more differences. Many more.

Wilson took a deep breath. _You have to deal with the situation at hand. What is, is. What isn't, isn't. This won't get the old House back. Nothing will. _

Part of him wondered why on earth he was upset with the changes in House. His friend had become more reasonable, kinder, less obsessive and prying and rude. Despite encouraging change and growth in House's life, he had always completely accepted his friend for who he was, good and bad. He was happier with House and his insanity than without him, and Wilson never would have believed that he would miss the rollercoaster of disasters that came with being his best friend.

He stood up, not wanting to sit here and marinate in his dismal thoughts. House was healing. Back to work, and close to being back on his own two feet. Things were good. He needed to stop looking for tragedy and angst where there was none. He pushed out of the stall, and debated heading for House's office. He and House rarely clashed, and he considered going to talk to his friend about the impact his words had on him, and why he had left so abruptly. He sighed.

House had changed, but not that much. Wilson had noticed that as his recovery continued, House's emotional openness and willingness to talk about feelings had degenerated to only slightly better than the old House's. Bringing this up would make House uncomfortable. They'd go home later and things would be back to normal. No worries.

Wilson changed courses, deciding to head instead to his office. He now had another unpleasant thought in his head. Harmon had mentioned the possibility that if House's rehab continued well, he could be on a cane in one or two weeks time. The original purpose of House staying with him was to make rehab easier, and to have someone to help him while he recovers. Being out of his chair made House able to function on his own. He wouldn't need Wilson, he wouldn't need to stay with him. House's old apartment was still being paid for using House's savings, still under his name... he didn't know what his plans were, but he suddenly realized something as his hand touched the cold handle of his office door.

House leaving was one of the last things he wanted.


	21. Baby Steps

**Chapter 21: Baby Steps**

**Author's Note: This takes place roughly two weeks after the last chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own House MD!**

* * *

House rolled over in his bed, pressing his face into his pillow as he fumbled around blindly for his alarm clock, adamantly keeping his eyes closed against the early morning sun. The incessant beeping sound ceased, and House yawned loudly. According to Wilson, he had always been a night owl. That apparently held true for the present as well.

He finally peeled one eyelid back, taking in his room in Wilson's apartment. The room wasn't very personalized at the moment. After all, he was still trying to figure out his personality. A dresser sat against the wall, the top drawer hanging open from when he had grabbed his pajama pants the night before. On top of the dresser sat his blue backpack and a single picture. Wilson had given it to him shortly after he moved in.

It was a picture of him, Cuddy, and Wilson from Sanford Wells' wedding a few months before the accident. Wilson had said it was taken shortly before his disastrous proposal to Sam. House was in a tuxedo, his gray and brown hair messy and a lazy smirk on his unscarred face. Wilson stood next to him, grinning, and Cuddy was beside Wilson. Cuddy looked beautiful in an aqua dress, he noticed, and he looked at the picture for several minutes, like he did each morning.

The rest of his room was unremarkable. He had a bedside table with an ornate lamp, a desk with his computer on it, and his guitar and case leaning in the corner. Other than that, the room was bare.

He didn't want to be who he was before, but he just wished he _remembered_. It was like he had only been alive for three months, because that was as far back as his memory stretched.

He stretched his sore limbs, sitting up in bed. He glared at his alarm clock. It was six thirty, the time he usually woke up.

They had discharged their second patient since he became head of diagnostics yesterday. Multiple sclerosis. His epiphany, but it was Chase who got him on the track to right idea.

Hopefully Cuddy would have a case for him when he came in, or one of his team had found something in the ER.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing. His leg pain was always the worst in the morning, especially now. He massaged his thigh and reached for his bedside table. He took out a bottle of aspirin and dumped three into his hand. He tossed them into his mouth and downed them with a bottle of water he kept next to his bed.

He placed his bare feet on the cold floor. He braced himself against the bed and pushed himself up.

He stood, his legs shaking under the strain. They managed to hold him up though, and he smiled slightly to himself. His wheelchair was a few feet away. He shuffled forward slowly, a hand on the wall, putting most of his weight on his good leg.

House reached his chair and sank into it. He massaged his thigh, excited for when he would finally be able to move without it being a huge production. He wanted to speak with Dr. Harmon today to see if maybe he could get on the cane. He had managed the day before to walk from one end of the physio gym to the other without supporting himself (though it had been incredibly difficult) and he thought that proved that he was ready for the cane again. If he moved slowly and didn't walk long distances, he believed he'd be able to manage.

He grabbed his usual clothes from his dresser. A white concert tee, a light blue button up, and dark jeans. He wheeled himself to his bathroom, lamenting that he had the bedroom with only a shower, and not a bathtub. He had stopped using the bathtub in Wilson's room as soon as he was able to stand. He needed to practice standing on his own, both literally and metaphorically. He couldn't rely on Wilson for everything.

He switched on the water, letting it blast for a few minutes so it would warm up. He slowly stood up from his chair, placing one foot in the slick bottom of the shower, then the other. His legs trembled under him, but held his weight.

He bathed quickly, lathering up and drenching his limbs in the near-scathing water. He would like to stay and relax under the beating water, but his legs couldn't support him for very long, and he wasn't about to sit in the shower.

Stepping out carefully, he dried himself off with a towel, pausing on his mutilated thigh like always. With a careful finger he traced the cavernous remains of his muscle, biting the inside of his lip as he did so. This is what started it all. The thin scar traced through the middle showed when he had tried to operate on himself. Whether that bathtub surgery disaster was the start of his road to his memory loss or the original infarction, he wasn't sure.

He shook his head slightly, scattering water droplets as he let his towel drop to the floor and pulling on his boxers and jeans. House stood in his bathroom, shirtless as he examined himself in the mirror. Compared to how he had looked when he had woken up, he was a super model. He had cut his hair short, so the gray wasn't as pronounced as it had been. His beard was neatly trimmed, and the muscles on his abdomen and arms stood out quite a bit. His tan was slowly fading with the arrival of autumn, unfortunately. Thankfully, it did help his scar seem a little less gruesome. He experimentally smiled at the mirror. It caused his scar to contort and made his features look rather feral. He quickly let his face drop, sighing and running a hand through his hair as he stepped to the sink to brush his teeth

He thought he looked good. A lot better than both before and directly after the accident. But the scars it had left, both mentally, physically, and emotionally, would never completely fade.

House gave his teeth a quick brush, then slid on his tee shirt and stepped out of his bathroom, deciding to try and move around without his wheelchair for a little while. It was a quarter to seven now, and he needed to leave by seven thirty, just in case traffic was bad. He grabbed his brush off of his dresser and quickly raked it through his hair, which basically only required a bit of smoothing down. He heard the telltale whine of Wilson's hair dryer, and knew his friend was up. He quickly put on his over shirt and buttoned it up. He scrounged in his dresser for socks and found a warm gray pair, then put them on.

He moved slowly out of his bedroom, keeping a hand on the wall just in case. He had taken a few mean falls since he started trying to move around on his own, and he definitely didn't want to start of the day with falling on his ass.

He rested when he reached the kitchen counter, breathing deeply. He put as much weight as he could on his arms, not wanting his legs to give out.

"House." He heard Wilson's voice from behind him. He turned to see his friend, dressed for work in his usual attire and with his hair neatly combed, looking at him with pity. House rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine. Baby steps." He said quickly, hating the look Wilson was giving him. Wilson sighed.

"I just don't want you to go overboard." Wilson said as he walked into the kitchen, scooping his keys out of the key tray and tossing House his driving gloves, which he deftly caught. "Come on, we're a little ahead of schedule, lets go grab some breakfast." House pulled on his gloves, but his own suspicions stopped him. He narrowed his eyes at Wilson, who looked at him innocently.

"You don't want me walking around for another forty five minutes. You're trying to coddle me without me knowing it." He theorized. He stopped leaning on the counter and stood on his own two feet. He gestured with his arms at himself. "Wilson, I'm on my own two feet. I can handle shuffling slowly around the apartment for a little while."

Wilson frowned. "You're still too perceptive for your own good."

"I'll take that as a compliment." House said, limping towards the cupboard. He swung it open and brought out the bagels, taking one and placing it in the toaster. Once inside, he turned back to Wilson. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm fine." Wilson looked at him for a long moment, his brown eyes soft with care and worry. House appreciated his friend's concern, but he was worried that Wilson's neurotic nature was going to send him to an early grave. He had enough to deal with without House adding to it.

Wilson turned his back and walked wordlessly out of the room. House was tempted to follow him, but there was no way he could catch up with Wilson in his current state. House sighed, returning to the toaster to pull out his bagel. He quickly slathered some butter on it and threw it on a plate, heading to the couch in the living room. He stopped when he saw Wilson in there, holding out a cane to him. It had a long metal length, with a handle that looked to be made of maple. It had been used before, but not for long.

"It's from a couple years ago, you stole it from some old man at the hospital." Wilson explained quietly. House stepped forward slowly, putting his breakfast down on the coffee table. He wrapped his hand around the handle and took it from Wilson, turning it over in his hands. "You're right, as usual."

"Harmon hasn't given me the all clear yet." House mumbled as he placed the bottom of the cane on the floor. He nearly sagged with relief. It made standing infinitely easier on his weakened legs.

"Well, the old you didn't tend to listen to anyone else, and there are a few things about you that I'm pretty sure have remained the same." Wilson said, his lip curling into a small smile. House twirled the cane in his hand, blue eyes flashing. House put it back on the ground, leaning on it and crossing his legs.

This... felt familiar. Like playing the piano or guitar did. It felt like he had done this thousands of times before. Hennessy had said that was a good sign, but House was of the opinion that the familiarity just came from his undamaged procedural memory. House looked at Wilson.

"Thank you." He said.

**xxxxxx **

Cuddy was walking back to her office, coffee in hand, when she saw him walk through the doors of the hospital.

_Walk_ through the doors of the hospital?

She did a double take, blinking rapidly to make sure she saw what she was seeing. House limped through the glass doors of the entrance, a blue backpack almost identical to his old one slung over his shoulder, a new leather jacket over his usual button up and jeans.

If not for the scar on his face, and the fact that it was eight in the morning (the time House was _supposed_ to show up for work) she would have thought she had fallen back in time to before the accident.

She placed her coffee on the reception desk and trotted towards him, high heels clacking on the hard floor. He and Wilson were only a few feet in before she stopped in front of them, unable to suppress a smile.

"You got your cane back!" She proclaimed, failing to think of something else to say. House flashed her a smile and hefted his cane up.

"Yep. No more wheels for me." He said, eyes not immediately raking up and down her curves, but instead focusing on her eyes. Cuddy grinned.

"I'm happy for you. This is great!" She stated. House tilted his head and pursed his lips. Wilson raised an eyebrow and glanced between the two of them. Cuddy's smile faltered, realizing that House was thinking.

When the old House would think, that was generally a bad sign.

The new House, well, she still wasn't sure. They didn't have a patient, so House hadn't just had an epiphany. She waited for him to say something. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision.

"You want to get dinner later tonight?" He asked, leaning on his cane and considering her. He looked slightly worried, like he was afraid of rejection.

Cuddy stopped dead. Her first reaction was to scream "YES!" at the top of her lungs, but then her rational side came over and reasoned with her love struck idiocy. She felt almost like being involved with the new House would be a betrayal to the old one... like he wasn't good enough for her, but the new brain damaged version was...

_You don't even know what he means by dinner. Stop over thinking things._

"You know. Like a date." House clarified, seeming to read her mind. She felt her cheeks flush. _Damn, he can still read me like a book._

Wilson gaped at the two of them, and he stood stock still, waiting for Cuddy to respond. House waited patiently, and Cuddy realized that her mouth was hanging open slightly. She gulped, and then decided quickly to throw caution to the wind.

"Sure. Where and when?"

**xxxxxx **

Wilson had insisted on following House up to his office. The team was already there, so House shot them an apologetic look before heading over to his desk and dropping his bag on his desk. He turned to look at Wilson, who was looking at him with amazement.

"That was... inspiring." He commented, leaning against the wall.

"I just asked her out. I didn't seranade her." House said with a shrug. It really wasn't. He had been planning to ask Cuddy out once he recovered, and now that he was back on his cane, he felt that now was as good a time as ever. He hadn't planned on doing it, the impulse just kind of hit him in the moment.

Wilson had always said he was unpredictable. _Some things don't change._

"Did you plan that?" He asked. House shook his head.

"Nope. Just kind of winged it."

"Wow." Wilson commented, eyes wide. House sighed, slightly amused and exasperated at Wilson's sudden fascination with his love life.

"Is there any chance we could gossip about this later?" House asked, motioning towards his waiting team. "I have this nutty thing called a 'job'... you have one too, right?" He asked. Wilson grinned.

"Alright... lunch?" He asked.

"_Now_ who's winging it?" House responded sarcastically. Wilson shook his head, noticing that House's sarcasm, although still sharp and witty, had lost it's condescending, snarky edge.

Wilson waved a hand at him and left him alone in his office. House ran a hand through his hair, slightly nervous for the night. He was picking Cuddy up at her home at seven, and taking her to dinner at La Berge. It was technically his first date, since he didn't remember any of his other ones.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. As he had so deftly pointed out, he had a job to do.

He used his cane to push open the door to the differential room, and was met by Taub, Chase, and Thirteen's shocked faces.

"You're walking!" Thirteen proclaimed from next to Chase. All three of them smiled at him.

"How're you feeling?" Chase asked.

"Better than yesterday, not as good as tomorrow." He answered.

"Did Harmon clear you for the cane?" Taub asked.

"Wilson pointed out that I don't always listen to others." House joked before pointing at the whiteboard with his cane. "I see we have a patient." The words "Seizures" and "Akinetopsia" were written there.

"He was checked into the ICU a few hours ago. Vision tests show that the akinetopsia is intermittent, CT was clean, and the EEG shows only mild epileptiform waves..."

**xxxxxx **

"Well, how do I look?" House asked, motioning at himself. He didn't want to look like he was trying too hard, but he did want to look nice. Wilson narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, observing him with a keen eye.

"Not bad, actually." He said. "Of course, I say that in the most heterosexual way possible." He added. House laughed, then turned to the mirror to examine himself.

He wore black chinos complemented by his only pair of dress shoes. Up top, he had a white dress shirt he had borrowed from Wilson and a dark blue tie. His suit jacket lay folded on the couch, waiting to be put on. His hair was neatly combed, and he had trimmed his beard and sideburns just moments before.

"Yeah. For a fifty something with a history of near death experiences and drug abuse, I look pretty darn good." House cracked, straightening his tie. His legs ached from being on them for the entirety of the day, even with the help of his cane, but right now he had much bigger fish to fry.

"You nervous?" Wilson asked as House picked up his jacket and slid it over his arms.

"Kind of goes without saying, doesn't it?" House asked. "I mean, she's beautiful." Wilson blinked.

"House, I do believe you're being romantic." He said, smirking.

"Oh, well, I wasn't going to make a move on you until the third date, but since you're being so abrasive." House quipped, grabbing his keys and wallet off of the counter and his cane from where it had been leaning. Wilson looked like a proud father, standing there.

"Good luck, House." Wilson said.

"Thanks." He said as he opened the door and shut it behind him. He took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."


	22. Here We Go Again

**Chapter 22: Here We Go Again**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, wish it was. **

* * *

He was anxious on the ride over, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. His palms felt bare and naked without his driving gloves, but he really had no reason to wear them now.

He parked in front of her house. It was the first time he had been there, and it was a nice little suburban place. He beeped the horn, excited to see her.

Her front door opened, and for the first time he saw Cuddy's daughter, Rachel. She was in the arms of her nanny, Marina, and Cuddy quickly kissed her goodbye before trotting out to the car. Although he knew Rachel was adopted, he thought Rachel actually looked quite a bit like Cuddy.

Cuddy was in a beautiful red dress that had one sleeve over one of her slim shoulders, leaving the other one bare. The dress accentuated her curves and athletic body. Her hair was curled slightly so her dark locks looked bouncy and voluminous, and she had only applied a small bit of make-up, which was all her already naturally pristine features needed. Her shining blue eyes glowed with excitement and trepidation, which he expected was probably how he looked.

He couldn't help but notice every little thing about her. It had been like that since when they first met. The first time he remembered anyway.

She opened the passenger side door and slipped in, smiling at him.

"Hi." She said simply. He looked at her, trying to keep a goofy grin from spreading across his face.

"Hi." He mimicked, pulling away from the curve.

They were silent for a few moments as House drove, and he searched for a topic of conversation. Most of the time when he and Cuddy spoke, it was about either physio or work, but he felt like this wouldn't be the right time to just chat about his patient or his leg. "Ever been to La Berge before?" He asked, figuring that small talk was really the only option at this point. Cuddy pursed her lips, shifting slightly.

"You and I... we went there a couple of times."

_Damn it all._

This was one of those moments where his lack of memory frustrated him to no end. Treasured memories that his friends held meant absolutely nothing to him, because in his mind, they hadn't _happened_ to him.

"Sorry." House mumbled, unable to think of a better response. Cuddy sighed.

"Don't be. It's not your fault." She said. "You didn't know."

House paused, chancing a glance at her. Their eyes met for a brief moment before he turned his own back to the road.

"Tell me about us." He said as he turned onto the main road to downtown.

"About... us?" Cuddy asked, confused.

"Yeah. I don't know, so why not tell me? That way we can skip the obligatory awkward small talk and have something to chat about." He explained. That was partly true, but he also had an ulterior motive.

If she told him about their relationship, he hopefully wouldn't make the same mistakes again.

"Well..." She seemed surprised by his request. "What has Wilson told you?"

"That we dated for most of the past year. That you left Lucas for me, and basically saved me for myself... that we've known each other since we were in med school and that he's convinced I've always been in love with you, and vice versa. And he obviously explained why we broke up, and how I got back on the pills." He explained.

"So he hasn't gone into much detail." Cuddy inferred. House nodded.

"I'm pretty sure we didn't really inform Wilson of the intimate moments of our relationship." Cuddy laughed at this.

"On your end, you probably did." She joked, before sighing. "Well, how much do you want to know? Blow by blow or overall summary?" She asked.

"Depends on how much you want to talk." House responded, turning through and intersection. With a flash of recognition, Cuddy realized where they were. She tensed visibly, and House glanced at the street signs.

Brown and Gooding.

This was where the crash had happened, all those months ago.

_Now that's a mood killer if I ever saw one._

He looked at Cuddy as he reached the stoplight, frowning slightly as he searched for words of comfort. He found nothing and turned his eyes back to the road, cursing inwardly for his lack of social tact.

"What did we do?" House asked, breaking the silence with the first question that popped into his mind. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he gave her a withering look. "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. I meant like what we did when we went out."

Cuddy considered this for a moment, thinking.

"Well, most of the time we just went to dinner, or to the movies. We actually went Go-Kart racing one time." She said, smiling. House was relieved he had at least temporarily gotten her attention off of the accident. House arched an eyebrow at her.

"Go-Karts?" He asked. "Are you serious?" Cuddy laughed.

"Oh, I'm serious. You were trying to find something we had in common when we had just started dating, so you found out that when I was little I liked Go-Karts... we went with Sam and Wilson. It was kind of a disaster." She explained, amused.

"How so?" House asked, eager to keep up the conversation.

"Well, let's just say the four of us were banned for life from the indoor Go-Kart track." She told him. House smirked.

"I guess we had a good time." House commented. They were only a few minutes away from the restaurant now, and a good distance from the intersection.

"We did." Cuddy agreed. "You and I had a lot of fun together." She seemed distant for a long moment. He frowned, frustrated. At that moment, he would have given anything to get inside her head and see what she was thinking.

They were silent until they pulled into La Berge. He opened his door, and moving as quickly as his shaky legs would allow, arrived at the other side and pulled the door open for Cuddy. He offered her his hand that didn't hold his cane, and she looked at it for a moment before smiling slightly and taking it. He pulled her into a standing position, and he expected her to release his hand, but she didn't.

He had no problem with that.

Hand in hand, they strolled through the parking lot and pushed through the glass doors of the restaurant. It was a small place, but nice, and with excellent food. The waited for their reservations to be confirmed. When they were, they were escorted to a corner table, away from the noisier part of the restaurant. They were given water and menus as they waited for their initial bread basket, and for the waiter to take their orders.

"So, what are you getting?" Cuddy asked, paging through her menu. House bit his lip, searching through the options.

"I think I'm going to get the-"

"Crocque Madame?" Cuddy finished. House tilted his head.

"How'd you know?" She shrugged, looking back at her menu.

"It's what you got the last time we came here." She commented as she closed her menu. "I think I'm going to get the fondue sampler." She said. House nodded.

"Good choice." He then held up a hand in front of her face. She looked at him curiously.

"Do you want a high five or something?" She asked.

"In movies, it's always directly after they discuss what their getting that the people on the date settle into an uncomfortable silence. I am doing my best to prevent that." He explained. Cuddy beamed at him.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to pick something to talk about." Cuddy said.

"How about we go back to the history book of House and Cuddy?" House asked, taking a sip of his water.

"Alright." She agreed. She mirrored House and took a long draught of her water.

"So, why not just start at the beginning?" He proposed.

"That's going back quite a few years." She pointed out.

"They're slow here. We've got time." House said. Cuddy nodded slowly.

"Okay... well, you know we met back in med school when you were still enrolled in Michigan."

"Before I got kicked out." House affirmed.

"Yeah. You were working in the student book store. You checked out my course schedule, made some unfortunately accurate observations about me, and then after that we both kept an eye on each other for awhile. Eventually we ended up at a party together..."

House waggled his eyebrows. "Wilson didn't tell me this part." Cuddy scoffed at how House-like he had just sounded.

"We slept together, but that's as far as it went. You got kicked out the next day, and it would have been pointless to call me." She said with a shrug. "When you were older, you became virtually unhirable because of what an unbelievable ass you were, so I took you in, and you've been Princeton's golden boy ever since."

"So, nothing happened between us until over a year ago, right?" House asked as he saw the waiter coming towards their table. After he took their orders and gave them their bread basket, Cuddy answered.

"Well, we kissed once about two years before we started dating, but that probably had something to do with the fact that I was an emotional wreck. Nothing came of it, we both agreed it was a mistake." She explained. "We didn't get together until after the crane collapse."

"Wilson told me." House said as he took a bite of baguette. "You left Lucas for me."

"Yes, I did." She said slowly, knowing that Wilson had already told him this.

"Why?" House asked. Cuddy looked at him, biting her bottom lip as she considered his question. She was debating whether to tell him the truth or not.

"Because... I loved you. And I had to know if we would work or not." She said, picking at her food absent mindedly.

"But it didn't." House surmised quietly. Cuddy nodded slowly.

"No."

There it was. The thing that kept them apart. The thing that had thrown walls up between them. The fact that they had loved each other, and House had screwed up. House had screwed up, and Cuddy had given up.

And yet here they were. Because both of them knew that now... everything was different. The accident hadn't just changed House, it had changed them both. Even if House had come out of the hospital exactly as he came in, she truly believed she would still be here, sitting across from him.

Having the idea of his death so strong, so possible, showed her what she had been trying to deny since the end of her and House's relationship.

She simply needed him. Just like he needed her. It wasn't the fact that she couldn't function without him. It was the fact that she quite literally could not picture her life without House. No matter what, their fates were somehow inexplicably tied together.

Obviously, she wouldn't let House know this. This was technically their first date, it was not time to face all the demons hiding in the closet of their relationship, especially considering the fact that House didn't even remember most of those demons.

But it seemed like all the resentment, the anger, the hurt feelings... for her, that had gone away the second she saw House after the accident, his face barely visible through the bandages...

After everything they went through together through the years, all the snarky comments, all the childish behavior, and all the crappy things he had done to her, it all suddenly seemed frighteningly inconsequential. The feeling had lasted.

That still did not make this easy. Trying to figure out whether they could even have a relationship. How to pick the pieces up and put them back together when they constantly were changing shapes. House was still discovering who he was. Was this really a time to try to start over?

She really should have said no when he asked her, but those piercing blue eyes that could see through to her soul implored her to say yes, and deep in her heart, she knew there could be no other answer.

But now, what could she possibly say? There was no such thing as simple when it came to her and House. It had never been that way, and she knew it never would. Although the new House was marginally simpler to deal with in theory, the condition he was in mentally only complicated things further.

He could change drastically over the next few months as he adjusted back to his old life. What if she couldn't handle the changes?

She laughed internally at herself. After all these years of knowing House, she was pretty sure she could handle anything he threw at her. At least she hoped.

She knew they both wanted to be together so bad, but was it even possible? The odds seemed nearly insurmountable.

She didn't know why House's simple and accurate observation had sent her mind spiraling off into the long tangent of thought, but when House was snapping fingers in front of her face, she knew she must have drifted off into her own little world. Her attention immediately snapped back to House, who looked worried. She could see their waiter approaching, food in tow.

"Sorry, I spaced out..." The waiter presented them with their food, and they gratefully accepted their plates. However, once their food was in front of them, neither of them made a move to eat.

"I guess we shouldn't get into the heavy stuff on the first date, huh?" House asked. Cuddy smiled bitterly. She guessed House was regretting choosing their relationship as the topic of conversation.

"I'm beginning to wonder if we have a choice." She commented. House shook his head.

"For now, let's just focus on... reacquainting ourselves with each other." House suggested. "I mean, outside of the work place, I don't know you. I want to know you. We'll get to the other stuff later. I think that's more third date kind of stuff." House said, cracking one of his rare and disarming smiles.

Cuddy melted. She nodded, finally picking up her fork and deciding to start on her meal. "I think I'm okay with that." She said, trying to clear her thoughts.

"So," House said. "what do you like to do?" He asked. Cuddy had to suppress her shock while she reminded herself that she was on a date with the new House, who would ask seemingly normal, first date questions.

"Well... most of the stuff I do is either hospital or Rachel related, but I've always liked dancing, yoga, you know, physical stuff. I run almost every morning nine months out of the year." She felt guilty for saying this, knowing the activities she had named were inaccessible to House with his leg. He didn't seem to mind.

"I can tell. You're in great shape." He pointed out. It wasn't the rude kind of comment he would have made in the past. Just a passing compliment. No mentions of her ass. No mentions of 'Patty and Selma'.

God, four months, and she still wasn't used to this. She was about to respond, but House's cell phone went off. Her eyes went to his jacket pocket.

"House?" She asked tentatively. "Aren't you going to get that?" She asked. House looked like he was holding himself back.

"The team can handle it." He said. She immediately realized how much House wanted to pick up that phone, and she motioned to the phone. Some things never change.

"Pick it up, House." She said with a knowing smile. He sighed and flipped open the cell phone.

"Yes?" He asked, exasperated. His expression quickly changed as whoever had called him began talking. Dread. Interest. Confusion. Frustration. Each emotion had purchase on his face.

"It looks like it may be academic." She heard House say. He pursed his head and shook his head. "Get the biological parent's histories. I want them accurate down to the most minute details." There was a pause while the other person talked, and House mouthed the word 'Chase' to her.

"I can't..." His eyes darted to Cuddy. "How long?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, nodding his head to whatever Chase was saying. "It's got to be genetic, we've tested for every autoimmune under the sun..." Cuddy set down her fork, reached across the table, and took the phone from House. He looked at her, mouth slightly open.

"Chase?" She asked.

"Um... Cuddy?" He asked. "What's happening with Mr. Brubaker?" She asked.

"He's jaundiced, liver's failing, and brown urine suggests renal failure as well. Not to mention he's at a four on the RLAS scale." The Aussie doctor informed her, sounding frustrated. "Cuddy, listen, I'm sorry, but we're lost here. I know you and House are on a date, but-"

"Say no more." She said, slipping into administrator mode. "He'll be there in twenty minutes." And with that, she hung up the phone. House simply stared at her, blue eyes asking her a silent question. She offered him his phone back. "Go." She said, smiling sadly. "Do your thing."

"My thing?" He asked, accepting the phone and raising an eyebrow.

"You know." She said with a shrug. "Saving lives."

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, the switch to Cuddy's POV in the middle of the chapter was intentional, but I didn't want to set up a divide between House's view and hers, because I thought it would mess up the flow.**


	23. Seeing Red

**Chapter 23: Seeing Red**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Sadness. All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production company.**

* * *

House sat in his recliner, his mind racing as it tried to unravel the tangled mess that his current case had become. He stroked one hand down Amber's spine, and she purred loudly on his lap while she kneaded his leg. The small white kitten had grown quite a bit over the past few months, and Thirteen had predicted the little fur ball would be a full grown cat in another month or two.

House was frustrated himself for multiple reasons at the moment. Firstly, he had let his work drag him away from what was undeniably one of the most important dates of his life. Secondly, he was now sitting in his office three hours later and had absolutely nothing to show for it. He had believed it had been mercury poisoning, but just within the time he had returned to the hospital, whatever was ailing Sam Brubaker was now in his heart. He had surmised that he had roughly three or four hours before his heart was damaged beyond hope.

He wasn't going to let that happen.

Despite trying to focus the entirety of his attention on the case, his mind kept finding it's way involuntarily back to his and Cuddy's date, meticulously going over every single detail of their unfinished outing. Every word that had been exchanged, every fleeting hint of emotion in her eyes... it was like he had video taped the date with his mind, and it was unfortunately stuck on repeat in his head.

_This man is going to die because I'm too self absorbed to diagnose him. _House thought dismally.

_Focus, focus, focus! _House berated himself, leaning his head back into the recliner and closing his eyes. The movement distracted Amber, and she looked up at him with her wide eyes of the same color. House locked his gaze with her. She mewed slightly, and a ghost of a smile graced his mouth.

"Why don't you tell me what's killing him, huh?" House said as he patted her head. He looked away, sighing. _Start at the beginning._

Patient presented with intermittent akinetopsia and seizures. He had small seizures throughout his childhood, nothing serious until just recently. Biological parents are clean, died in a car crash the year after the patient was born. Both of them had perfect histories, for the most part, so he doubted it was genetic.

The CT was clean, and his EEG showed only mild epileptiform waves. They had considered both an infection and trauma, but Brubaker hadn't reported any injuries. Taub was convinced that he was an alcoholic, due to the fact that they had found trash cans full of empty beer cans in his garage.

Brubaker insisted that he was just a social drinker. He had his friends over for football each Sunday, and they all had a few beers.

House had decided for the time being to take the man at his word instead of chasing ghosts trying to find out if he was lying or not. He had ordered a test for late onset Lafora's, because despite the lack of genetic indicators from the parents, they had both died relatively young and may have not had a chance to present with the symptoms yet.

The test for Lafora's came back negative, and the follow up LP and MRI were both inconclusive. They had nothing.

Infection was still possible, tumor was less likely. They were paged during the differential. Brubaker had begun coughing up blood. They had stopped all treatment, because House was under the impression that it was a reaction to the meds they had given him (broad spectrum antibiotics and anti-seizure drugs) and even if it wasn't, they sure as hell weren't helping him.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by his door opening. Wilson walked in.

"You haven't been picking up your phone." He commented, looking relieved to see him, albeit a bit frustrated. House cast a glance to his phone, which sat, turned off, on his desk.

"Sorry." He mumbled. "Forgot to turn it on."

"Why are you here?" Wilson asked, sitting down on the edge of his desk so he faced him. House shifted in the recliner.

"Patient's dying."

"Where's your team?" He asked.

"Doing an echo. Brubaker's BP dropped like a stone about an hour ago, and his 02 stats are down the toilet. Whatever it is, it's in his heart now." He explained. "And I haven't got a clue what's wrong with him." As House said this, Amber yawned and hopped off of his lap, trotting over to Wilson. A small smile touched his friend's lips as he bent over to pet the small cat, which purred happily.

"Well, I was going to nag you for flaking on Cuddy, but under the circumstances I can't really blame you." He said. "Did you guys even get to dessert before Brubaker started declining?"

"Nope. We had just gotten our meals." House said, distracted.

His thoughts were now back on the date. The way the moonlight had reflected in her eyes as she had gotten into his car, the way her laugh warmed him from the inside out. Prevalent in his thoughts was how beautiful she had looked in her elegant yet simple red dress-

_Red._

The familiar feeling of connectivity began in his mind, and suddenly his thoughts were racing. Red. They had discounted genetic disease earlier on because Brubaker's patients had died young in a car crash. A car crash that had taken place at night.

Suddenly he was out of his chair, forcing his weak legs forward. Wilson threw him a questioning look as he ripped his office phone off of it's receive and speed dialed Chase.

"Chase." He answered after one ring.

"Who was driving the car when his parents died? His mother or his father?" He demanded quickly.

"The mother." Chase answered slowly, having reviewed the file thoroughly. House's eyes widened.

"I know what he has." He said. There was frantic beeping in the background now.

"What? How?" Chase asked. "House, listen, he's crashing, he's had an allergic reaction to the diazepam-"

"He's got MERRF Syndrome, otherwise known as Ragged Red Fiber." House cut him off. He heard the whine and shock of the paddles in the background, and Thirteen's voice.

"Shocked back to normal sinus rhythm." He heard her report, sounding out of breath.

"Ragged Red Fiber?" Chase questioned. "I thought we decided it wasn't genetic-"

"It's transmitted through mitochondrial DNA. Poor night vision, akinetopsia, cortical seizures, the kidney and heart involvement all fit." House told him quickly.

"What about the liver?"

"The liver was a distraction. It was already trashed from the drinking, and the anti-seizure meds sent it over the edge." House told him.

"So now we do think he's an alcoholic?" Chase asked.

"I believe I coined the saying, 'Everybody lies'?" House asked rhetorically. "Have Taub or Thirteen run his DNA for MERRF, and when it's confirmed, start him on L-Carnitine. Ragged Red Fiber isn't curable, but it is treatable. A few days and his kidneys and heart should bounce back to at least a functioning degree, and he'll regain consciousness."

Chase paused over the phone, and he could practically here the surgeon's mind working. "Alright. I'll call you when we get the results. I'll start him on L-Carnitine to get a jump on it, it can't do any harm."

"Thanks, Chase." House said before hanging up. He placed the phone down on the receiver, leaning on his desk next to Wilson, wincing at his leg. It had taken the first day of wheelchair freedom remarkably well, considering, but it still pained him considerably worse than usual.

"Ragged Red Fiber." Wilson said, impressed. "Nice catch."

"Hopefully it's not too late." House said dismally. "If we've started the meds too late, he'll progress into severe cardiomyopathy. If that happens, he's done. With his liver in the shape it's in, he doesn't have a chance of making it onto a transplant list." He sighed heavily, biting the inside of his lip.

"At least you got your answer." Wilson offered. House cast him a questioning glance.

"If he dies, what the hell does it matter?" House snapped, irritation touching his voice. He very rarely got upset with Wilson, but his flippancy bothered him. Wilson blinked. There an awkward silence between them before Wilson spoke.

"I'm sorry, House." He apologized. "Sometimes I've forgotten how much you've changed." House just shrugged in response. Amber rubbed up against his leg, and wincing slightly, he leaned down and gave her a light pat on the head. She meowed at the two men. "So, what are you going to do about Cuddy?" Wilson asked.

House tongued the inside of his cheek as he rose, wishing he knew the answer to that question himself. "No clue." He said. "I mean, bailing on our date probably didn't win me any points with her."

"Did she seem pissed when you left?" Wilson asked, arching an eyebrow. House shook his head.

"Not at all. She told me to go, even said it with a smile on her face." He said before running a hand through his hair. "Women are confusing." He said.

"That's the understatement of the year." Wilson laughed. "You should ask her out again. Preferably when you have a more stable patient."

"Generally files don't end up on my desk until they've reached the point where 'stable' is a blind hope." House said. "But yeah, I should. I just don't know what to do. There's so much history between us, and I don't remember any of it." House said.

"That may be for the best." Wilson said. "Saying you and Cuddy's past is messy would be putting it mildly." Wilson paused for a moment, tilting his head. "Hey, I have an idea."

"Hmm?" House asked, looking at his friend.

"You hear about the fundraiser ball next Friday?" Wilson asked. House nodded.

"Hard not to, there's flyers plastered every fifteen feet in the hospital." He replied dryly.

"Cuddy doesn't have a date." He told him. "Why don't you ask her? Cuddy loves dancing, it would be a great way to woo her." He proposed. House just blinked, then wordlessly motioned to his leg. Wilson pursed his lips.

"You used to dance before. Obviously you can't do anything too elaborate, but you can hold her and turn slowly in a circle, and that's all you really need to be able to do." Wilson told him. House considered this.

"She likes dancing?" He asked. Wilson nodded.

"Dancing, aerobics. That kind of thing. She's really-"

"-athletic." House finished. "I asked her about what she did for fun at dinner, but I got cut off by the 'patient dying' thing. We don't have much in common." He said, a led weight in his stomach. "Maybe we would, if it weren't for..." He trailed off. Sometimes, he could very clearly understand why he had acted the way he did before his accident. His leg filled him with feelings of bitterness and self-pity. Pulling himself out of those moments often proved difficult.

"House." Wilson said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Ask her to be your date to the charity ball. She'll say yes, melt into your arms, then live happily ever after." He said, giving House a reassuring smile. House couldn't help but return it to some degree.

"Okay. I'll ask her." He said resolutely. Hopefully, he would be able to make up for his rather poor performance on their recent date by sweeping Cuddy off of her feet at the charity ball.

"Who all is going to this thing?" House asked. "I haven't bothered to ask my team if they're going, mainly because I hadn't planned on going."

"I know Chase and Thirteen are going together, obviously, beyond that I'm not sure." He said. "They're getting pretty serious." He commented. House nodded his agreement.

"They're good for each other." He said. "I mean, they practically glow around each other."

"I wonder why they didn't get together sooner?" Wilson wondered aloud.

"Maybe he hadn't gotten over..." He searched his mind for her name. "Maybe he hadn't gotten over Cameron yet." Before Wilson could respond, however, House pointed at him. "Wait a minute."

"What?" Wilson asked, his brow furrowed.

"Who are _you_ going with?" He asked suspiciously.

"Me? I, um, well, I haven't- I mean, you-" He stammered, and House smiled wickedly.

"You're going with Hennessy aren't you?" He asked. Wilson looked away, swallowing.

"I was thinking of asking her, yeah." He admitted sheepishly. House laughed.

"God, you're like a teenager." He said. "Alright... let's make a deal then."

"It's like making a deal with the devil." Wilson quipped.

"The two of us will have asked out our respective love interests by no later then Tuesday evening." He said in a formal voice, extending his hand.

"That's only a few days!" Wilson exclaimed.

"Ball's in a week." House said. Wilson hesitated before sighing and taking his hand.

"Fine, it's a deal." House smiled, but it quickly fell when he realized he would now have to build up the nerve to ask Cuddy to the charity ball.

_Crap._


	24. Scarred

**Chapter 24: Scarred**

**Disclaimer: Twenty four chapters, and they're still not mine... how unfair...**

* * *

_House walks down the aisle between bus seats, choosing one close to the back. He feels odd. His vision is blurry and his thoughts have trouble forming coherent trains. His coordination is lacking, that much he can tell by the exaggeration of his limp. He's drunk, but he doesn't understand why. The sun has just barely sunk below the horizon, it must only be seven or eight o'clock._

_He sits down, his cane planted between his legs. He taps the stopper on the floor, humming to himself. The buzz of intoxication is a pleasant one. It feels familiar, but something nags at the edge of his mind that he can't put his finger on. The bus pulls away from the curb in front of the bar, and he sees now that Amber followed him onto the bus. She strides toward him, taking the seat across the aisle as hers._

_She's wearing a red scarf and a beige coat. Despite the redness under her nose, she looks young, bright, and alive. Her blond hair is slightly windblown from the spring breeze. But wait, how does he know it's spring?_

_The confusion in his mind increases. Something in him realizes this is a dream, but at the same time it feels unlike any dream he's ever had. Despite the haze of drunkenness, it is sharp, clear. Like this really happened._

_Wait, how did he know that woman was Amber? In his mind, the very back, he remembers his short vision and his first memory, of her telling him that he was getting a second chance._

_Amber. Wilson's dead girlfriend. Who died in a bus crash..._

_No._

_The scene changes in a blink of an eye, shattering like a pane of glass, and as the next scene comes to light, the bus is turned into a monstrous mutation of what it had previously been. Shattered glass and broken bodies surround him, sirens and panicked voices assault his ears. His head throbs miserably, and he is just barely able to focus his attention enough to see Amber in front of him._

_A flash in his mind, the ghost of Amber's hand on his as the bus turned over and over, thrusting her away from him._

_She is prone on the roof of the bus, which is now upside down. Her eyes flicker, and he knows she is barely conscious. He somehow manages to crawl forward on his shredded palms, wincing against the searing pain._

_He reaches her, and he sees now that her injuries are much more severe than his own. Her face is torn, bloodied and bruised, but it is nothing compared to her leg. Thrust through her leg is a near foot long piece of metal, shining menacingly in what little lines shines into the destroyed carcass of the bus._

_He is terrified. Dream or not, this moment is as real as any moment of his life. He takes her scarf off, trying to force himself into doctor mode. "I have to tie this around you." He hears the words in his own voice, but he doesn't remember saying them._

_"I'm cold..." She says as he begins tying the tourniquet. Her eyes are threatening to roll back into her head. He knows he can't let her fade away._

_"Stay with me!" He says, his voice hoarse with pain and fear. "Just... just stay with me." He finishes tying the tourniquet, and although he is fighting to stay conscious, he finds blackness creeping in on the edges of his vision. His body sags to the ground, and he shakily lifts his hands in front of his face. They're covered in blood. Some is his._

_Some is Amber's._

_"House! House, you're having a nightmare, wake up!" A voice shouts. It sounds like Wilson, and he sounds frightened. He can't wake up, not now, he's got to save Amber... he has to save Amber, or Wilson will hate him... _

**xxxxxx **

"House! House, you're having a nightmare, wake up!" Wilson shouted as he shook his friend. He had heard House's frantic yells from his bedroom, and had immediately went to his friend. He had been trying to wake him up for the past five minutes, but whatever nightmare House was experiencing had it's claws sunk deeply into him.

Wilson kneeled next House on his bed, which was soaked with sweat, and his legs were tangled up in the covers. His head flailed back and forth, and his face was contorted with anxiety and fear. He varied between mumbling and yelling words he couldn't understand. Wilson tried again to shake his friend. "House!"

"Can't..." Wilson finally is able to discern something House has said. "Can't..."

Wilson had been living with House for months, and not once did he remember House having a nightmare. Even when they lived together before the accident, it was very rare that House would talk in his sleep. He was a tosser and a turner, sure, but he couldn't recollect anytime House had thrashed and screamed like this.

"House!" He raised his voice as much as he could without freaking out their neighbors. _Oh God, me screaming House's name, that'll really help dispel the gay rumors..._

"Amber..." Wilson froze as he heard House whisper the words. He was taken back to four years ago, when Wilson and Cuddy had managed to revive House after he OD'd on physostigmine. "Amber."

_Why is he dreaming about Amber? _Just like always, hearing her name sent a shock of loss and pain through him, even years later. He shook himself, trying to focus on the task at hand. Feeling guilty, he drew his hand back and slapped House relatively hard. Whatever his friend was going through, it seemed like it was practically torturing him.

House's ice blue eyes snapped open, his breathing fast and ragged. He looked around quickly, confused, and it looked like his older friend didn't even realize that he now had his hands fisted in the fabric of Wilson's tee shirt.

"House, it's okay, you were having a nightmare." He told his friend, trying to soothe him. House closed his eyes, and for a moment, Wilson feared he had gone back to sleep. He shook him lightly, and House's eyes opened once again.

"I..." He looked at his hands, then swallowed embarrassedly and released Wilson's shirt. He sat up, and Wilson drew back from House, sitting Indian style next to him on the bed.

"Are you alright?" Wilson asked, heavily concerned. House had his distant thinking look fixed on his face, and he wasn't surprised when it took him a long time to answer.

"Amber... she died in a bus crash, right?" He asked suddenly, his voice low. Wilson bit the inside of his lip, and nodded.

"She did..." He trailed off, indicating for House to continue. House licked his lips, seeming like he was trying to shake off the last remnants of the dream.

"Was she impaled? Bash up her head?" He asked. Wilson nodded again, eyes wide. This couldn't mean what he thought it did. "When she was brought in, did she have a red scarf as a tourniquet?" Wilson's mouth was hanging open now. House's breathing accelerated and he closed his eyes for a long moment.

"House..." He trailed off. _He didn't even know who he was when he woke up, he knew nothing at all! How can he know this?_

"I think I'm starting to remember."

**xxxxxx **

House and Wilson sat in the cafeteria together as usual. House was halfway through a Ruben (dry, no pickles) and Wilson was working on a ham and cheese bagel.

"So what did Hennessy have to say?" Wilson asked. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. In all honesty, his meeting with his psychologist had been of almost no help. When he had described his dream the night before to the young woman, her mouth had practically dropped to the floor.

"She's stumped. Said she was sure I had no memories from before the accident, she said that since it's been over four months, if they were going to come back, they would have." He explained, his mouth full.

"So what's her explanation for your dream last night?" Wilson pressed, not touching his food. He seemed to be even more preoccupied with the recovered memory than House did. Maybe because it involved Amber.

"Says that since I've woken up, it seems like I've had a faint amount of emotional memory, so I might have a few fragments of really intense memories if they were really emotional or painful moments." He paused, finishing his bite. "The bus crash obviously falls into that category."

"Does she think there's any chance you might recover more?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She said she's never going to say something can't happen to me again. According to her, I've consistently defied expectations since the minute that semi hit me." He had certainly been beating the odds a lot lately, from his survival of the crash to regaining the use of his legs.

They sat together in silence for several minutes. It wasn't an uncomfortable one per se, but it was one of the instances where they both had something to say, but neither of them could form their thoughts properly.

"I'm not sure I want my memory back." House said quietly. Wilson's brown eyes flashed, and he pursed his lips.

"House-"

"That was the worst I've ever felt in my entire life, Wilson. Yeah, I may only remember a few months of said life, but still. Seeing that woman - Amber, dying, it was terrible. In the dream, I had convinced myself that if she died..." He sighed, not sure whether he should even say the next part. "I convinced myself that if she died, you'd hate me."

Wilson's eyes darkened. "You know we didn't speak for months after she died. I didn't blame you for what happened to her, I just... needed time." House nodded, choosing not to respond. "House, having your memory back wouldn't be a _bad_ thing."

"It wouldn't?" He asked, staring at his now empty plate. "The man I was before... an addict, an alcoholic, an ass, would it be a good thing for me to go back there?"

"House, you were and are a good person." Wilson defended, seeming agitated. "You had a lot of demons, but you weren't evil."

"Do you miss the old me?" House asked abruptly, catching Wilson off guard. The fact that his friend stopped to consider his response was enough of an answer for him.

"Sometimes." He admitted. House nodded, understanding. The dream last night gave Wilson hope, the hope that maybe he could get his old best friend back.

It was kind of weird. Like being the little brother of someone famous. You're never going to be able to live up to their reputation.

House understood what an impossibly difficult situation Wilson was in. His allegiance and loyalty to the old him conflicted with his feelings of who he was now, because quiet obviously, he was a different person.

"I understand." House said quietly, not wanting Wilson to feel guilty for his admission. _It is definitely time to change the subject. _For now, he was going to continue as he always had. Perhaps this was just a fluke, and the bus crash would be the only memory that returned to him. "It's Tuesday." He pointed out mildly. Wilson eyed him, no doubt seeing right through his avoidance of the conversation. He relented, however, and decided it was for the best.

"And?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Have you asked Hennessy to the ball thing yet?" He asked, clasping his hands in front of him. Wilson blinked.

"Yes, actually, I did. I completely forgot to tell you." Wilson said, seeming surprised at himself. "I asked her this morning when I ran into her in the reception area."

"She said yes, I'm assuming?" House asked, genuinely interested. He was fairly sure the young woman had a bit of a crush on Wilson, and he knew Wilson thought she was cute. Wilson smiled slightly.

"Yeah... but that's beside the point." He pointed a finger at House's chest for emphasis. "Have _you _asked _Cuddy_ yet?"

House gave him a withering look before pushing himself out of his chair. He winced slightly, still getting used to walking on two legs after months in a wheel chair.

"I'm working on it."

"Tonight's the deadline." Wilson reminded him annoyingly.

"Don't worry. I'll ask her out before then." He blinked, looking at the ceiling for a few seconds. "We sound like we're in Middle School." Wilson shrugged, amused.

"Just don't put bubblegum in her hair."

**xxxxxx **

He had nothing.

It was about six in the evening, and he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say to Cuddy. He hovered outside of her office like some kind of creeper, not really knowing what to do. Thank God she was looking at paperwork instead of out of the windows of her office.

He had been understandably distracted all day, with a new and impossibly confusing case in his lap, along with his sole memory from his old life bugging at the back of his mind, he hadn't really had time to think of what he was going to say to her.

_Just wing it. What's the worst that could possibly happen?_

He didn't answer that question, not wanting to discourage himself. He sucked in a breath before knocking lightly on the door, not wanting to barge right in. She looked up and seemed to suppress a smile, waving for him to come in. He had been trying to avoid her since their date was cut short, but she seemed happy to see him.

He pushed the door open with his cane. "Hey." He greeted.

"Hey. How's the girl doing?" She asked, referring to his new patient, fourteen year old Raiven Payne. She had come in earlier in the day with an allergic reaction, but all of her tests were negative for all known allergens.

"Stable, for now. We're thinking it's bacterial. Thirteen and Chase are searching her home, Taub's running blood cultures." He informed her. She nodded, looking slightly confused as to why he was here. "Um... the charity ball, on Friday." He said, limping forward and lowering himself into the chair in front of her desk. "You going?"

She gave him an appraising look before nodding. "Yes..."

"I was just wondering..." He swallowed, trying to make himself sound like a confident man and not a scared teenager. "I need to make up for bailing on dinner the other night. I don't suppose you'd let me be your date to the ball?" He asked. Cuddy flushed, and he could tell she wasn't expecting this. She blinked rapidly, trying to respond.

"S-sure!" She said, and seemed embarrassed by her own response. "I mean, that would be great." She told him, smiling sweetly. He returned her smile.

"Pick you up at six?" He asked. She nodded.

"Six is fine."

"Alright." He said, nodding as he got up to leave the room. That had been surprisingly... easy.

_Now I've just go to make sure I don't screw this up._


	25. Reflections

**Chapter 25: Reflections**

**Disclaimer: Oh, House and the gang definitely are not mine. Which, all things considered, is probably a good thing.**

* * *

_He's sitting in a diner that doesn't seem familiar to him, but at the same time it does. He's halfway through a burger, and he feels free. Light. Happy. The insulin shock worked, and the hallucinations are gone. An overwhelming sense of relief encompasses him. He could have been schizophrenic, or had MS. He could have lost his license._

_He had narrowly avoided disaster, and he didn't have to stop taking vicodin. Overall, he came off okay. Kutner's death had haunted him for weeks, but he hoped tonight that he'd actually be able to get some sleep._

_The fear of losing his mind had been worse than anything he had ever experienced. The one thing he treasures beyond all else had been at risk, and nearly killing himself to save his sanity was a small sacrifice. If he loses his mind, he loses everything. It's all he has._

_He freezes for a long moment. He is now aware of singing in the background. The diner is always alive with music, but now he hears a distinct change in the voice of the singer. _

_"Enjoy yourself... it's later than you think..."_

_That voice._

_"Enjoy yourself... while you're still in the pink..."_

_It is unmistakably, terrifyingly familiar. He doesn't want to turn; already knowing what he will see, but almost with a will of it's own, his body turns. He sees her sitting there, as perfect in death as she was in life, singing her haunting tones into the microphone._

_"The years go by... as quickly as a blink..." She's laughing now, but there is no humor in it. It sends a cold thrill of fear through his heart. She is not gone. His worst fears are being confirmed. He is slowly going insane._

_Maybe not so slowly, actually._

_"Enjoy yourself... it's later than you think..."_

_He picks up his phone to call Wilson._

**xxxxxx**

This time it wasn't Wilson that woke him up, but his own tears. His vision was blurred by the wet and darkness, and he quickly flicked on the lamp on his bedside table. His breathing was rapid and panicked, and he felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. Wilson had told him he had hallucinated Amber after Kutner's death. How he had called Wilson when he was at the diner, but then disappeared shortly afterwards to find Cuddy.

Another memory.

The dream had held the same amount of clarity as the one he had of the bus crash four nights ago. He gulped, searching for the bottle of water he kept in his night stand, his throat screaming for water. He blinked away his tears, wiping the sleeve of his tee shirt across his eyes. He was glad has hadn't screamed this time. He would have been mortified for his friend to see him in this state. It was bad enough last time, having Wilson find him screaming and thrashing.

He sat up, his shirt sticking to him unpleasantly because of all the sweat. He leaned his head back against the head board, trying to calm himself down by some degree. His heart was still thumping wildly in his chest, but it slowed as he breathed deeply in and out. He was trying to clear his head. Obviously causing his thoughts to cease was impossible, especially for him, but he could at least try to focus on something trivial. As was his usual morning routine, he stared at the picture of Cuddy, Wilson and himself on his dresser. He memorized every detail, trying desperately to focus only on that.

After a few long minutes, he was finally back to a state of relative calm. He sighed deeply, taking a bottle of aspirin from the bedside and shaking three tablets into his hand, quickly downing them with a swig from his bottle of water. His leg throbbed painfully, and he attempted to massage some of the pain away, but it was relentless. It had gotten much worse since he had started walking.

Although most of the time, he felt no empathy towards his former self, it was moments like this that he understood perfectly why he had been the way he was, why he had tried to find any means of distraction from the pain.

He peeked at his clock, and saw that it was roughly four in the morning. He briefly contemplated waking Wilson up, needing human contact, but he knew that his friend had had a long day at work, trying to get as much work done as he could so he could leave early for the ball tomorrow without feeling guilty. He wasn't going to interrupt the few hours of sleep he managed to get.

Bracing himself against the bed, he stood up shakily, using the nightstand to steady him as he grabbed his cane, which was leaning against the wall in it's usual place. His leg burned as he paced slowly in the room. He had been doing this as a bit of a ritual, trying to build up strength in his legs, in spite of the intense pain. Not to mention, he couldn't just sit still with his thoughts racing like this.

Two memories now. Two glimpses back to the life he had once had, and neither of them were pleasant. Although this one didn't leave him with the horrible feelings of guilt and pain that the one of the bus crash had, it had still been terrifying.

He paced back and forth. _I need to get some sleep. Being dead on my feet for the charity ball would be a bad idea._

Honestly, he was scared of going back to sleep. Scared of seeing more of his old life. There were so many things he was happy he didn't remember. Sleep suddenly seemed like the last thing in the world he wanted.

He leaned against the wall, staring at his tux hanging on a hook on the wall. He and Wilson had just been to the tailor to get fitted the day before, and according to Chase (who had accompanied them) he cleaned up surprisingly well.

In less than twenty four hours time, he would have his second shot at starting something with Cuddy. He didn't want these demons from the past getting in the way of what he hoped was a chance at happiness. That despite the accident and the past he couldn't remember, they could be together.

He needed to talk to someone, but he didn't want to worry Wilson with this. Privately, he also didn't want to give him any false hope. He picked up his phone from where it sat on his nightstand. It was on the charger, and he quickly took it off and went through his incredibly short list of contacts.

Robert Chase. Rae Lynn Collins. Lisa Cuddy. Kimberly Hennessy. Remy Hadley. Leroy Harmon. Christopher Taub. James Wilson.

As a result of his accident, he didn't know many people, and he was close to even fewer (of course that wasn't all that different from before). Now he had to pick someone from that list that he could confide in. Chase was tempting. He was close with the Aussie, but he didn't want to place his baggage on him. Cuddy? _Hell no. _He didn't want this to jeopardize whatever was going on between them.

_Collins, nah._

He was friends with the pretty neurologist, but she wasn't someone he would seek out in a time of need. Hennessy was the most logical choice, but he really didn't feel like hearing the comforting tones of his excitable young psychologist.

Remy.

Now, that was an idea.

Since his release from the hospital, he hadn't spent much time with Remy. She and Chase were very absorbed with each other, and spent most of their time together. He had Wilson, so he saw no reason in interfering in their fledgling relationship.

Since his awakening and her sacrifice, though, he had truly trusted her from the beginning. He felt like he could speak with her about this, without her trying to make him feel better or sugar coat the situation.

He dialed her number.

**xxxxxx**

Thirteen waited patiently in House's office for him. Honestly, she'd been surprised to hear from him, especially when his call included the words "I need to talk to someone."

Someone had to stay late at the hospital to monitor Raiven, who had lost almost all of her hearing shortly before the rest of the team left for the night. There wasn't an MRI spot open until the morning (they were thinking brain tumor or viral infection), and House wanted someone at the hospital to monitor her until morning. As per usual, the three of them had drawn straws, and she got stuck with the job yet again. She was starting to think that Taub had rigged it somehow.

She had gotten the call while she continued her routine of sitting outside the girls room, sipping her coffee and flipping through an old Smithsonian when House had called. After a brief and vague conversation, he had said he would meet her in his office in an hour.

So, here she was. She sat in the chair in front of House's desk, staring absent mindedly at her nails as she wondered what House could possibly need to talk about that he wouldn't just discuss with Wilson. Her and House were friends, obviously, but Wilson was his _best_ friend. Was he trying to keep something from him?

She didn't have much more time to consider this, because almost as if he had been summoned by her thoughts, House limped into his office, stopping behind her. She hadn't actually seen him walk in, but the sound of his three legged gait was a dead give away.

"Hey." He said, his voice sounding weary. She tilted her head back to meet his electric blue eyes.

"Hi." She greeted him. "What's going on, House?" She asked, her voice softening with concern. He pursed his lips, shuffling forward to sit on the edge of his desk, still facing her.

"A few days ago, I had a dream." He began, wasting no time with small talk. "A memory." He corrected after licking his lips. Thirteen's eyes widened. _He remembers something? _"I remembered the bus crash."

"Oh my God." Thirteen said in a hushed voice. "Everything?" House shook his head.

"When I got on the bus, and then directly after the crash. So technically not the crash itself." He explained in a monotone.

"Did you tell anyone?" She asked. He nodded, twirling his cane in his left hand while staring off into the distance.

"Wilson and Hennessy, yeah. Hennessy wasn't all that helpful, and it worried Wilson a lot... he had to try for nearly ten minutes to wake me up, because apparently I was screaming my head off." He paused, looking distant. "But it also gave him hope."

"Hope?" Thirteen asked. House shrugged.

"Hope that he might get his old friend back." He told her. "I can understand it. For him, it's got to be a constant battle between his loyalty to the old me and the reality that I'm not him- me- _fuck_, I don't even know." He put his head in his hands, seeming exhausted both emotionally and physically. She knew he wasn't done, so she didn't speak, instead waiting for him to continue. The old House confiding in her would have been a sheer impossibility. With the new one, it was still a surprise, but it was really more touching than anything.

"I had another dream before I called you. It was after I put myself in insulin shock to stop my hallucinations. It was when _she_ came back." He admitted, a haunted look in his eyes.

"Amber?" She whispered. House had never shared with them what he had hallucinated before the disastrous Cuddy incident, but she had guessed that it was either Amber or Kutner. He nodded tersely. House seemed more distraught than she had seen him since the accident.

"I woke up... and I was _crying_." His voice cracked, and he looked disgusted with himself. "I don't know what the hell is happening to me. Am I just going to be doomed to relive the worst moments of my life, or am I going to get my memory back?" He asked, shivering involuntary. Now that he had started talking, it didn't seem like he would stop.

"So these are the only two you've had so far?" She asked for clarification.

"Yeah. Hennessy thinks I might just remember a few of my really powerful emotional memories, and that's it." He said, his voice back to it's subdued tone. "Oh, joy."

"These seem to be really messing with you." It took a lot to unsettle House, even now. His short remembered life had been a difficult one, with his recovery, memory loss, physical therapy, and fight to get his job and life back.

"Things are finally where I want them to be. I'm getting closer to putting my life back together. And now this." He closed his eyes briefly. "I don't want to go back to sleep. I don't want to see anymore. _I don't want to remember_."

_That's why he isn't telling Wilson this. Because Wilson _does_ want him to remember. He wants his best friend back._

"House..." She trailed off, not really knowing what to say. She was still in shock that her boss had poured his heart out to her.

"I'm sorry for laying all this on you. I had to talk to someone... and I trust you." He said, looking away from her. "Plus, I wanted to see how Raiven was doing."

"She's fine, for now. Hearing loss has been sustained, but her vitals are stable. We'll be able to get her into an MRI first thing tomorrow." She stood up, deciding that the case wasn't the thing they needed to talk about right now. The fact is, she really didn't know what to say to comfort House. She had obviously never been in this position before.

She was going to try something crazy, insane, and downright daring to make House feel better.

Before her rational side could talk much sense into her self, she embraced the old man, who froze in her arms. House was not a touchy feely kind of guy before his accident, and she had never tested the waters afterwards with him, so she didn't know exactly what his reaction would be to this.

He tentatively patted her back, and she could feel him relax.

"Thank you." He said, pulling back from her. She gave him a sad smile.

"You're a good man, House. Both of you."

**xxxxxx**

House had returned to the loft just before Wilson's alarm went off, and he crumpled up the note he had left on his door in case Wilson had woken up to find him gone. Thankfully Wilson didn't seem to notice the bags under his eyes and general grogginess. He decided that for now, Wilson didn't need to know about his second nightmare.

Like any other day, they ate breakfast and drove to the hospital together, getting to work at eight o'clock. He tried to keep up a conversation with Wilson in spite of his preoccupation, so as not to arouse the oncologist's suspicions.

When he arrived at work, Chase, Taub, and Thirteen were waiting for him as usual. The unusual thing was the tired, stressed look on all three of their faces, and the new symptoms on the board.

It was slowly becoming a long list. Their patient had been worsening steadily since she'd been admitted. He scanned his eyes down the list.

Rash, fever, swollen joints, conjunctivitis, hearing loss, and kidney failure.

Kidney failure had not been there the day before. _This can't possibly be good._

"I tried to run the MRI about an hour ago, and she seized. Both of her kidneys are fried." Thirteen sighed, looking run down. She showed no acknowledgement of their conversation the night before.

"We've been trying to get her on a transplant list, but without a diagnosis-" Taub began.

"-and the fact that she probably wouldn't survive surgery." Chase interjected.

"-I don't see him getting selected." His team looked positively abysmal. At this point, they were really running out of ideas. They all turned their eyes to him, seeking guidance. Seeking a way to save the fourteen year old girl. House limped towards the board, eyes scanning over the symptoms.

"Simple solution." He said, turning back to his team. "We diagnosis her."

**xxxxxx**

Wilson trotted down the hallway, ready to meet up with Chase and House. They had planned the day before to get ready for the charity ball at Wilson's loft, then split up to go meet their respective dates.

He pushed open the glass door to the differential room and saw House sitting at the differential table, chin resting on the handle of his cane. Chase sat nearby, mouth pursed into a thin and worried line.

"We got rid of the rash. Why is it back?" House asked. He didn't know whether he was speaking to Chase or just wondering out loud.

"We know it's not an allergic reaction." Chase replied. "We must have done something to set it off again."

"We need to isolate what's changed." House muttered. "We put him on dialysis, moved him to the ICU, and did a partial MRI."

"The MRI was two hours before the rash came back, it's probably not connected." Chase said.

"What was he doing two hours before he broke out the first time?" House asked. Wilson cleared his throat, and both House and Chase jerked in their seats before turning to locate the source of the noise.

"Is Raiven not doing well?" He asked. House nodded his head in affirmation.

"A lot less than 'not well', actually." House said. "Remy and Taub are getting consent from the mother to start her on chemo."

"You've got a diagnosis?" Wilson asked, not understanding.

"Nope. Brain tumor's the best guess we've got. Chemo will probably kill her, but doing something is better than doing nothing. If that doesn't work, she'll probably be dead by this time tomorrow." House explained, looking dejected. House hadn't lost a patient since his accident, and Wilson wasn't sure how he would react if he did.

"Is someone going to stay with her while the charity ball's going on downstairs?" Wilson asked.

"Taub." Chase said. "At this point, there's really nothing we can do but wait and see. We were never able to finish the MRI, so there's no guarantee it's a brain tumor, but none of us have any other ideas."

"At least if anything goes wrong, you guys will just be downstairs." Wilson pointed out. "Are you two ready to go get dressed?" He asked. Chase stood up with a sigh, and House followed suit, his hand massaging his thigh. _Is it hurting worse than usual?_

"Yeah." Chase said. "Let's go." The three of them headed out of the differential room, House lagging slightly behind. Once back in the hallway, Chase and Wilson both slowed down so they could keep pace with House. Wilson noticed that the diagnostician had the same distant distracted look he had held this morning. _Probably just concerned about the case._

"House," Wilson ventured. "are you okay?" House's blue eyes bounced to him for a brief second before flying away.

"I'm fine." He said. Wilson's stomach knotted as they stepped into the elevator, the doors dinging shut in front of them. Something in House's voice and the hesitation in his eyes made him concerned.

_Why is he lying to me?_


	26. Parade of Hearts, Part I

**Chapter 26: Parade of Hearts, Part I**

**Author's Note: All the words in italics are words to the songs playing in the background. All rights go to Coldplay (Every Teardrop is a Waterfall), VV Brown (Shark in the Water), Lady Gaga (Electric Chapel), and Panic! at the Disco (TAGRTTANHYJHTOIY).**

**Disclaimer: Collins and Hennessy are mine, but the rest belong to David Shore.**

* * *

She looked beautiful, even more so than usual. A silky pale blue dress hugged every perfect curve of her body, and it matched the stormy gray-blue of her eyes perfectly.

He waited for her in his car, and he got a strong sense of deja vu from their previous date. He hoped this would turn out better. She opened the passenger's side door and slid in next to him, giving him a shy smile that he quickly returned.

"Hey." She greeted him.

"Hi." He replied as he pulled away from the curb and into traffic. Cuddy didn't live far from the hospital, so the drive would be short. He made eye contact with her, and he saw that her lips were still tilted in a small smile. "You look great, by the way."

"You clean up pretty good yourself." She commented. He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror, and he thought he looked good enough. He wore a simple black tuxedo, not wanting to look too extravagant. He was going for dashing and dapper.

The drive over to the hospital was uneventful, and when he drove his car into the parking garage, he saw Chase's car was already parked, indicating that he and Thirteen were already there. Hennessy lived on the outskirts of Princeton, so it would probably be another fifteen minutes or so before Wilson arrived.

House stepped out, his leg screaming in protest. The lack of sleep and amount he'd been walking lately was really catching up with him. If he made it through the night without it giving out, it would probably be a miracle. He hoped desperately that Cuddy didn't see his white knuckled grip on his cane.

"House!" He jerked his head towards the voice, and he saw Chase and Thirteen at the front entrance to the hospital (there was a line; each person who came received a nametag), hands lifted in greeting. Cuddy strolled around to his side of the car and laced her fingers through his. He felt a warmth spread up his arm as they walked together to the other pair.

She was holding his hand in front of the entire hospital. She was not shy, she was not ashamed that he was her date. Chase simply raised an eyebrow and gave House a wink as they joined him and Thirteen. She gave them a weak smile as she hugged herself tightly.

"Hey guys." She said. "G-god, I'm f-freezing. I can't b-believe there's a line." Her voice was shaking. For the early fall night, it was strangely cold. The wind blew hard and fast, and the temperature must have dropped twenty degrees from the relatively warm temperature it had during the day.

Chase removed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Don't worry, we'll be inside in a minute or two."

"It's been hectic setting this up." Cuddy told them. "We have people coming from all over the state to this thing, even a few people from WHO are showing up."

"I saw some of the nurses decking out the cafeteria at lunch. This is even bigger than the Monte Carlo fundraiser a few years back." Chase said.

"What charity is this for, again?" House asked. It wasn't because he had forgotten, he honestly hadn't bothered to ask before.

"St. Jude's." Thirteen answered. "A lot of hospitals have started doing yearly events for them." House nodded and opened his mouth to respond, but he heard a voice behind them.

"Hello everyone." He turned to see Collins, looking like her usual stunning Southern self, a pale sleeveless orange dress bringing out her bright green eyes and complementing her long auburn locks well. On her arm was an African American man he didn't recognize. He had large dark eyes and a black goatee, but no hair. The man pursed his lips, eyes meeting House's. "House."

"I'm sorry, I don't who you are." He had said that quite a few times since the accident. A lot of people would speak to him like they had known him, and he wouldn't even know their name. The man blinked.

"Right. Almost forgot." He hesitated before extending his hand. "Eric Foreman. I worked with you for a long time." House released Cuddy's hand and grasped Foreman's, giving him a firm shake.

"Wilson told me. Sorry, I haven't seen you since... you know." He said, not wanting memories of his injuries to put a damper on the night. "I've been meaning to thank you, actually. I was told you were the one who figured out it was PTB that progressed to HTB." Foreman raised an eyebrow, but then seemed to just go with flow, nodding in response.

"You're welcome." He responded quietly.

Foreman hugged Thirteen, Chase, and Cuddy, having not seen them since his abrupt resignation over the summer, and the four of them began catching up. House didn't add much to the conversation as the line moved inside the hospital. The desk where you signed in, got your nametag, and submitted donations at was inching closer.

He chose to be a mostly silent observer mostly because he was trying to gauge the kind of man Foreman was. After all, Foreman had worked for him since 2004, as long as Chase had.

Although he was friendly enough, the neurologist seemed highly guarded. He tried to put together all he had learned about Foreman from Wilson, Cuddy, Chase and Thirteen together in his head.

Wilson had described Foreman as having a good heart, but having the exterior of a condescending hard ass. Humorless and introverted, Foreman was about as good at forming relationships as his old self had been.

The group of them sidled up to the registration desk, each of them receiving a nametag. The theme of the night was very prevalent now; apparently they were going for an underwater thing. It definitely wasn't Cuddy who had made the decisions when it came to decor. He inquired with her, and she said Sanford Wells had decided the theme.

Nearly the entire downstairs of the hospital (with the exception of the OR) had been decked out. Fake sand lined the hallways, coral and shell chains hung from the ceiling. A multitude of rentable aquariums had been placed at various spots in the hospital. Music blared over the PA, everything from recent pop to old swing classics.

A bar had been set up (not free, all proceeds went to charity) and there were three tables in the cafeteria lined with all kinds of finger foods and appetizers. The clinic was the main dance area, and there was even a DJ. The event was set to last four hours (it was eight now) and there was a raffle drawing towards the end, and also an auction of various art projects the long term patients in Pedes had created.

There were a few games where you could win goldfish in a bag or novelty shells and various other items fitting the theme, and there was even a dunk tank that several of the surgeons had volunteered to take turns manning. He knew that Chase had a shift for a half an hour later in the night, and he made a mental note to keep paying for balls until he managed to sink the young doctor.

Overall, it looked like the night had the potential to be decent at the least. He wasn't really a ball kind of guy, but with Cuddy on his arm, he was pretty sure it would be alright.

About ten minutes or so after they had signed in, Wilson and Hennessy appeared behind them. He had to say, the young psychologist looked positively gorgeous. She wore a flowing emerald dress that went well with her complexion and eyes, and Wilson seemed to be pretty much glowing in her presence.

His best friend looked great in his tuxedo, his dark brown hair neatly combed and entire outfit pressed and perfect.

All of them were here, so now it was time to make the night special.

**xxxxxx**

_"I turn the music up, I got my records on, I shut the world outside until the lights come on."_

House basically just swung to the music, Cuddy in front of him mirroring his actions. He felt guilty that he couldn't dance with her like anyone else could have, but she didn't seem to care or mind at all. Of course, she had been with him before, she would have already learned to accept his physical limitations.

Wilson and Hennessy danced behind them, a bit more lively than he and Cuddy were. He could hear snags of their conversation through the thrum of noise, and it sounded like he and his date were getting along famously.

_"Maybe the streets alight, maybe the trees are gone, I feel my heart start beating to my favorite song."_

He continued his half-dancing. "Coldplay." He muttered under his breath. Cuddy raised an eyebrow.

"You don't like Coldplay?" She asked.

"Not particularly, no." He answered. "Do you know what the name of this song is?" She shook her head in response.

"'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall'." He told her.

"Every Teardrop is a Waterfall." She deadpanned. He nodded.

"Yep."

"Okay, I can kind of get why you don't like them." She admitted.

_"All the kids they dance, all the kids all night, until Monday morning feels another life."_

"Hey, I'm starving, do you want to head over and grab something from the cafeteria? They have shrimp." He briefly wondered how she knew he liked shrimp, but then put two and two together that it must have been something she discovered over the course of their relationship.

That was one of the weirdest things about being around Cuddy now. She knew him so well, and in all honesty, he wasn't very familiar with her. He hoped that would change after tonight.

**xxxxxx**

_"Sometimes I get my head in a dizzy, feeling so lost, ticking you off."_

Thirteen, Chase, Collins, and Foreman sat together at the bar. Thirteen and Foreman, both having moved on to new (and marginally more functional) relationships, had no awkwardness between them. They were just old friends catching up.

"So," Foreman began, sipping at his bourbon. "how much has he changed exactly?" He didn't have to specify that he was referring to House.

_"Now boy you know me well, said I'm that kind of feeling."_

"A lot." Thirteen and Chase answered at the same time. Thirteen set down her martini, looking Foreman straight in the eye. "He's still a genius, he's still mildly insane, but he's _nice_. Doesn't talk as much, not nearly as over the top. He's still sarcastic sometimes, but it's not as..."

"Scathing." Chase supplied. Thirteen nodded.

"He's a different man." Collins said. "I haven't even been around him that frequently since he was released, but I can still tell."

_"That kind of soft, that kind of silly, but when I'm in doubt, I open my mouth."_

"Ironic that I worked for Ass-House for nearly eight years, and then I quit as soon as he isn't a jerk anymore." Foreman scoffed, before his expression darkened. Janice Carmichael's pale, dead face flashed in Thirteen's mind, and she was sure that it appeared in Foreman's as well. She wondered how Foreman felt about being back here. All of them had demons hiding in PPTH... Foreman had more than most of them.

"So, what are you doing for work now?" Chase asked. From what she knew, Chase and Foreman had had very little contact since his resignation, only having talked on the phone once or twice.

"Well, I write the neurology column for the New England Journal of Medicine, but I've got an interview lined up at St. Sebastian's next week. They need a head of Neurology, and I'm hoping I can charm my way into the job." He informed them. Thirteen bit back a comment about the last time he had tried to get a job at a different hospital. Working for House, they all understood the problem of getting a job post-Diagnostics. It seems like anyone involved with House immediately got black-listed.

_"And words come out, words come out like..." _

"Fingers crossed!" Chase said, raising his glass. The four of them knocked their individual glasses together, and after a long draught from his scotch, Chase leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her lips. She pulled back smiling, like always.

_"Baby there's a shark in the water, there's something underneath my bed, oh please believe I said."_

**xxxxxx**

_"My body is sanctuary, my blood is pure."_

Being trapped in a wheelchair for months was definitely going to pay off. He had pretty fierce arm muscles, and right now they were going to come in handy. He wheeled his arm back, the baseball tight in his fist, and threw it with deadly accuracy at the small target below the dunk tank. With a ding and a brief exclamation, Chase tumbled into the water.

He was only under for a second before he came up, spluttering, his blond locks plastered to his face. He had changed into a white tee shirt and jeans for his dunk tank shift, and both were now glued to him, rendered skin tight by the water.

Thirteen and Cuddy trilled with laughter behind him, and Hennessy had a hand covering her mouth to hide her squeaky laugh. Chase stepped out of the dunk tank to the towel laden area next to it, shaking out his hair like a wet dog.

"Worth the five dollars for the ball?" He asked, water dripping down his face.

"The word 'priceless' comes to mind, actually." House quipped.

_"You want me bad, I think you're cool, but I'm not sure." _

"And here I thought I could go my whole shift without getting dunked." He said with an exaggerated sigh. House grinned, lacing and arm through Cuddy's.

"Well, my work here is done." He said. "Now, it's time to win you a goldfish." Cuddy raised an eyebrow at him.

"Someone's being chivalrous." She joked.

"I live to serve." He bowed reverently, motioning towards the booth where you used a pellet gun to knock down pins, the reward being a bagged goldfish. Thirteen stayed behind to help Chase dry off, and Wilson and Hennessy took to the dance floor.

_"Follow me, don't be such a holy fool, follow me, I need something more from you."_

Hands laced together, House and Cuddy made their way over to the game. House paid eight bucks for a go with the pellet gun (the prices were extremely high, but only because it was for charity). He spun it in his hand like a gun slinger, bringing it up at eye level and looking down the barrel. He focused on the three pins he had to knock over. With a sharp breath, he let off three quick rounds. Two hit their target; one did not.

Without a second thought, he paid another eight dollars for another three rounds. This time, he adjusted slightly to the left and made his mark. He was rewarded with a small goldfish. Smiling proudly, he handed it to Cuddy.

"Consider him my apology for bailing on our date." House said as Cuddy carefully took the small bag of water from him. The goldfish swam around rapidly inside.

_"It's not about sex or champagne, you holy fool. If you want me, meet me at Electric Chapel."_

Cuddy smiled brightly, seeming to enjoy the sweet and borderline child-like gesture. "What makes you so sure it's a him?"

"The way he's swimming. Very subtle, you wouldn't understand." He jested. "So, what're you going to name him?"

"No clue." She replied. "I'll think of something, though."

_"If you want me, meet me at Electric Chapel. If you want to steal my heart away, meet me, meet me baby in a safe place."_

**xxxxxx**

_"Please leave all overcoats, canes, and top hats with the door man. From that moment you'll be out of place and under dressed."_

"We have a beautiful piece here from the illustrious artist, Sarah Jane!" Wilson pronounced, brandishing a finger painting of a family of rabbits. Wilson, being the much loved crusader of the long term cancer kids, was in charge of the art work auction. Sarah herself stood in a pink dress and a blond wig, smiling brightly down at the audience. "I think we should start the bidding at... hmm... I don't know, Sarah, what do you think?" He offered the microphone to the little girl, and she stood on her tiptoes to shout into it.

"A million dollars!" She cried. Wilson smiled, and House heard Hennessy giggle from beside him (since Wilson was up on stage, she had elected to stand with Cuddy, Chase, Thirteen and himself).

"Well, that may be a little _too_ rich for our blood." Wilson commented, beaming at the little girl. "How about we start the bidding at... two hundred dollars?" She nodded excitedly.

_"I'm wrecking this evening already and loving every minute of it, ruining this banquet for the mildly inspiring end."_

The price quickly skyrocketed from two hundred to five hundred. Some of the hospital's richest donors were there, and none of them were shy when it came to charity donations. Within five minutes it was up to five thousand dollars, with Sanford Wells finally outbidding the rest at six thousand.

There were quite a few pieces for sale, the kids had been busy. Chase bought Thirteen a clay sculpture of a bear as a kind of joke gift (it cost him three hundred dollars) and Wilson bought a macaroni sculpture for eight hundred. St. Jude's was raking in the cash, this year. It definitely helped that they were at a hospital, where most of the people there were incredibly well off.

Wilson stepped down from the podium, his work finally done and the night about half over. House clapped him on the shoulder.

"You should do that for a living." He suggested. Wilson laughed, looping his arms through Hennessy's, who blushed before placing a quick kiss on Wilson's cheek.

Wilson's face glowed red as he smiled goofily, and House had to stifle a laugh.

_"When you're in black slacks with accentuating off-white pinstripes, a-whoa-oh, everything goes according to plan."_

House was actually having a good time. In fact, all of them were. He felt a brief pang of pity for Taub, who was upstairs with Raiven. Then came thoughts about the case, for the first time that night. He privately kicked himself for being so callous and completely forgetting that a little girl was dying upstairs because he couldn't diagnose her.

He was distracted by Cuddy pulling him towards the clinic-turned-dance floor. He gulped when the song abruptly changed.

A slow song was playing.


	27. Parade of Hearts, Part II

**Chapter 27: Parade of Hearts, Part II**

**Author's Note: All rights to "Hey Jude" go to the gods of music, The Beatles. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own House MD. **

* * *

"_Hey Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better."_

Thirteen danced in a slow circle, swinging in time to the melodic thrum of the guitar and piano. She had always loved the Beatles, so the DJ couldn't have picked a better slow song to play.

Chase was smiling at her in the same way he always did, like he couldn't believe she was here, holding on to him. So much had changed in their relationship. It had completely evolved, becoming more serious than either of them could have predicted. Or hoped, really.

They were two people who were weighed down with guilt, with mistakes, and trying to outrun the past while simultaneously fearing the future. They both accepted the rough edges of the other without judging the burdens on each other's shoulder.

It was an imperfect relationship that was somehow... perfect?

_"Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."_

Chase surprised her with a spin, and she smiled as she fell back into his arms. They had gone out dancing a few times, and she was surprised by how good he was. She suspected he had taken dance classes in preparation for his and Cameron's wedding.

"So..." He trailed off, pursing his lips. "There's been something I've been meaning to ask you." Her breath caught, her eyes widening. _There's no way... we haven't even been together for four months yet! _"Oh! No, no, not that!" He assured her, catching the freaked-out look in her eye.

"Oh, okay." Thirteen breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't mean that in a bad way, it's just, we haven't been together long enough to really warrant that yet." Chase nodded.

"No, no ring this time... but I do have a question." He told her slowly. She raised an eyebrow as they continued their path through the dance floor, their movements fluid and graceful.

_"Hey Jude, don't be afraid, you were made to go out and get her."_

"And what's that?" She asked, intensely curious. Chase bit the inside of his lip, pale blue eyes looking nervous. _Weird... Chase doesn't _get _nervous..._

"Well..." He tightened his grip on her. His hands were laced behind her, hovering over the small of her back. Hers were wrapped around his neck, and they were so close they could hear each other breathing. "We spend nearly every night together already, I was thinking that maybe-"

"We should move in together?" She finished. He smiled slightly and nodded.

"Yeah... but not into my condo, or your apartment. Into a new place we pick together." He added, searching for her reaction. The idea of finding a new place to live with Chase... it was a very nice thought. Her own apartment held way too many memories she'd prefer to forget- her time with Foreman, Darian, just the past couple of years in general. She imagined that Chase wanted to abandon both his apartment and the memories it held of his failed marriage.

_"The minute you let her under your skin, you begin to make it better." _

She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him as deeply as she could in the crowded environment. It broken early only because Chase couldn't stop himself from smiling.

"Yes." She said simply. His eyes were soft, and he cupped her cheek in his hand, still smiling.

"I love you." He told her, without even the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice. She grabbed his hand, intertwining it with her own.

"I love you too."

**xxxxxx**

_"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders."_

Cuddy could tell by the look on House's face that he had never been more frustrated by his own disability than he was in that moment. They could dance, but it was more of a slow, shuffling turning. His furrowed brow and thin line of a mouth told her that he wished he could do more, but she was relaxed in his arms and perfectly content with the situation.

"House." She said quietly. "Stop looking so... stressed." She ordered him with a slight smile. His concerned expression lightened somewhat, and he brought her closer.

"I'm sorry." He said, his voice low and sincere. He added nothing more onto it, and she new the unsaid words of the needless apology spoke volumes. She sighed, placing a hand on his chest.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." She said firmly. "Nothing." He didn't respond as they drifted with the music.

_"For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool, by making this world a little colder."_

House had deposited his cane against the nurse's station in the clinic, leaving it to lean against the counter so he could have both hands free. With his already weakened legs, she knew it must be a difficult struggle for him to stand. She would've suggested sitting out the dance, but she knew that he would have denied his pain and insisted upon the dance regardless.

She didn't mind. It reminded her of Sanford Wells' wedding, where despite the fact that her and House were in a fight, they had danced together. Before the world changed, before the accident... before everything.

She looked over her date in the faint light of the clinic-turned-dance-floor. His gray-brown hair was neatly brushed, his beard trimmed, and his bright blue eyes glowing like iced fire. In spite of the scar that marred his face, she still thought he was the most handsome man she'd ever met.

"Cuddy," He began, licking his lips nervously. She had been waiting for him to bring up their relationship (or lack thereof) the entire night. Apparently he was choosing now, a little over halfway through, to do it. She just arched an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. However, he said nothing afterwards, instead surprising her with his lips on hers.

_"Hey Jude, don't let me down. You have found her, now go and get her."_

It was slow and tentative, almost with a hint of fear. He moved his lips slowly, trying to gauge her reaction. She responded immediately, removing her hands from her chest and replacing them at the sides of his face, bringing his head down even closer to hers. Nothing separated them. His hands rested on her hips, and he continued his deep but careful kiss. One of his hands moved to entwine itself in her hair, tilting her head up slightly.

Apparently the need for air was forgotten, and their lips remained firmly locked together, both of them completely oblivious to those around them, focusing only on their kiss, both of them trying to learn things about the other from it.

It was tender and sent a warmth running through her, but it was definitely different from the kisses she had shared with him before the accident. He would grab her by the waist and drag her into him, capturing her lips demandingly and immediately running his hands over every inch of her, his tongue exploring her mouth. He had been passionate and wild, bordering on animalistic. He had caught her on fire, not just warmed her.

_"Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."_

When her thumb, which was caressing his cheek, brushed over the raised pale skin of his scar, her entire world froze. She felt like a tub of ice cold water had been dumped on her.

This was not House. The same body, for the most part, yes. The same gorgeous blue eyes, the same brilliance - but he was not the same person. Who he was as a man before the accident was either gone forever or locked away along with the life he couldn't remember.

She had loved the old House... and she loved the new one as well, but not in the same way. She couldn't be with _this_ House, couldn't share a bed with him, couldn't give herself completely to him.

Why it had taken her so long to realize it, she had no idea. She had compared every man she had dated to House, and none of them, no matter how handsome, kind, and reliable could live up to the misanthropic bastard of her dreams.

The same went for this man, the new person who had emerged from the barely alive shell of the man she loved. She felt, in that moment, like being with _this_ House was betraying everything she had with the original House.

_"So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin. You're waiting for someone to perform with." _

A knife had just split her heart in half, and knowing how much it would hurt both of them, she broke their kiss, backing away from him and raising her hands defensively. The hurt was painfully visible in his eyes, and they held a silent question. _You don't want this, do you?_

She shook her head, trying to hold back the hot tears that burned at the corners of her eyes. "House... I'm sorry. I can't do this." Without another word, she turned on heel and moved away from him as quickly as she could, feeling trapped and strangled in the crowded room. She exited into the women's bathroom, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the room.

_"And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you do. The movement you need is on your shoulders."_

**xxxxxx**

_"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better."_

Hennessy really was trying her hardest to make the dance romantic, and look deep into Wilson's chocolate brown eyes, but, well, she couldn't help but notice the sweet-turned-disastrous scene House and Cuddy had just made. Wilson was turned away from his friend, facing her, but he noticed that she kept looking over his shoulder. In exasperation, she thumped her head into his chest.

"Sorry, James, it's just... I think House and Cuddy just had a fight or something." She couldn't help but watch the scene unfold. House was not only her friend, but her patient. She couldn't be expected to ignore what seemed to be a huge rejection from the woman he had very strong feelings for. Wilson immediately turned to look, and saw House standing alone, his jaw slightly open as he watched Cuddy walk away.

After a few seconds, he shook his head and headed off to the OR hallway, one of the only deserted places on the ground floor. Wilson looked apologetically at her, and she knew that the oncologist wanted to (scratch that, needed) to go and chase after his friend. She didn't pretend to understand the two doctor's friendship, but she knew that she needed to let him go. She placed a peck on his cheek, then turned him around and pushed him off in House's direction.

"Go to your friend." She called after him, and he shot her a grateful glance before tailing House into the OR hallway.

_"Better, better, better, better, better, better."_

**xxxxxx**

"House!" Wilson called, chasing after House as he rounded the corner to the observation gallery. Wilson couldn't believe how fast the crippled man could move when he wanted to. "House, wait!"

House came to a stop right in front of the observation window, looking down at the empty room. There were no surgeries scheduled for tonight, to his knowledge. He stopped next to House, and the diagnostician's eyes looked miles away.

"House." He breathed, trying to catch his breath. "What the hell happened back there?" He asked. House shrugged.

"She couldn't do it." He explained, his voice hollow. "That's all she said, that she couldn't do it. Then she left."

"Did you say anything before that? Did you have an argument?" Wilson pressed. He shook his head, laughing bitterly.

"No, no... I didn't say anything." Wilson arched an eyebrow, indicating for him to elaborate further. "I kissed her." He said simply. Wilson's jaw dropped.

"You kissed her and that was the reaction you got? She didn't kiss you back?" He could tell House was getting annoyed by his questions, but also knew that he wouldn't snap at him to stop. The new House chose silence over snark.

"It was fine. It was nice. Then she pulled away and left. I don't know what I did wrong." He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face.

"You look like you're going to collapse." Wilson commented, pursing his lips in worry. House had dark bags under his eyes, and seemed to be having some trouble holding himself up.

"I am. Didn't get much sleep last night, and it's been a busy day." He muttered, leaning his head against the cool glass.

"Maybe she needs to be alone for a little while. Maybe she'll come around eventually, once she's had some time to think." He suggested. House closed his eyes for a long moment.

"I can't be who she wants me to be. Who everyone _wants_ me to be." He told him softly. Wilson leaned against the window, trying to catch his eye, not understanding what he meant. There was a long stretch of silence. "I'm not him." His voice was barely audible at this point.

"You think Cuddy left... because you're not how you were before the accident?" Wilson asked for clarification. House nodded.

"I don't think. I _know_." He replied. Wilson opened his mouth to respond, but could think of nothing to say. Literally, nothing. Any comforting word would go in one ear and out the other. He couldn't assure him that he was wrong, because Wilson was fairly sure that he was right. Cuddy had loved the old him, faults and all, though she may not have realized it until after the crash.

"House..." Wilson trailed off, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." House tensed visibly at his words, and Wilson wondered why he had reacted that way.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He said, brushing off his hand. Wilson sighed, backing away from House slightly to give him space. He caught a chill, the air in the OR was frigid.

"House, it's freezing down here, let's get out of here. We'll go home, have a beer or two, and watch an all night marathon of Dance Moms." He offered, trying to cheer his best friend up. He knew Hennessy would forgive him for bailing on their date. House froze, his head lifted slightly away from the glass, his eyes widening.

"Cold." He mouthed. Without another word, he began limping towards the elevator. Wilson raced after him, feeling like he was repeating himself. "Where are you going?"

"CAPS." House responded, pressing the button for the elevator. Wilson was befuddled.

"What?" He asked, having no idea what House was talking about.

"It a genetic disorder caused by a mutation in the cold-induced auto-inflammatory syndrome 1 gene." House explained quickly as the elevator doors opened and he limped inside. Wilson tailed him in, his mind trying to catch up with House's. Somehow, they had gone from Cuddy to House's patient in zero seconds flat.

"Muckle-Wells syndrome?" He asked. "There's only been a couple thousand cases in the US." He pointed out. The doors closed in front of them.

"Rare doesn't mean impossible. It fits her constellation of symptoms perfectly." He said, shaking his head in anger at himself. "I can't believe I didn't see it before. I have to start her on rilonacept before she-" He was cut off as his pager beeped loudly at his side. House grabbed it, and swore loudly.

"Damn it, she's crashing!" The elevator made it's stop on the third floor, and House rushed out with Wilson close behind. He could hear frantic shouts and the sound of the cardiac alarm frenzying as they headed toward Raiven's room in the ICU.

Once they were close enough to see through the glass, they were both privy to the chaos inside. Raiven's mother and father being pushed back by the nurses as Taub elbowed his way in, white gloved hands pressing down on the fourteen year old girl's narrow chest.

_No... no... _Wilson watched helplessly as the repeated chest compressions and intubation did absolutely nothing for the beeping heart monitor and tanking O2 stats. House barged into the room, pushing Taub roughly to the side and beginning desperate chest compressions himself.

_He can't lose Cuddy and a patient both in one night..._

However, after five minutes of fruitless labor, the monitor still held a flat line. Raiven's chest had ceased it's movement, and it would not start again... ever.

House's patient was dead.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you to my friend Raiven Payne for letting me use her name (and kill her!).**


	28. You Must Remember This

**Chapter 28: You Must Remember This**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House, and I make no profit from my stories.**

* * *

Taub laid a hand on House's arm, trying to pry him off of their now long-dead patient. The family was falling apart at the seems, the father clutching the mother as she sobbed into his chest. The nurses stood by the side, silent observers to a tragedy that unfortunately, in their line of work, was common place.

The fact that death seemed like a typical occurrence for these people killed him on the inside. Death should never be _typical_, never be _expected_. This was the first patient he had ever lost... the first one he ever remembered losing, anyway. He backed away from the corpse of the young girl, failure and self-hatred bubbling inside of him.

_You're dead because of me. I could have save you... I should have saved you..._

It was Wilson's hands on him now, pulling him farther away and out of the room. He stumbled as they crossed the thresh hold, and nearly tumbled to the ground with his already weakened legs. Luckily, Wilson caught him. In the background, he could hear Taub.

"Time of death, 10:26 pm..." Wilson kept a hand on him to keep him steady, and together they hobbled/walked to the nearest bench in the ICU, out of sight of Raiven's ICU room. House sat down, feeling completely numb. He saw Wilson's fingers snapping in front of him, heard them too, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

_I failed._

And in so many more aspects than one. He had failed to save the little girl, failed to save his and Cuddy's relationship...

"HOUSE!" Finally, he looked up into Wilson's nearly frantic brown eyes, and the oncologist sighed heavily, taking a seat next to him. House's cane rolled out of his hand, his hand going limp. The cane dropped to the ground with a loud clack, and he made no move to pick it up.

"I screwed up, Wilson." House whispered, blinking slowly. "Everything."

"You didn't screw up. You did everything you could to save that girl." Wilson replied, trying to comfort him. Trying to make him feel better. He was failing, but it wasn't his fault. Words couldn't just make the pain go away.

"But it was too late." He argued weakly. "They're all dead because of me." He said, not really understanding his own statement, or why he made it. It seemed like the proper thing to say.

"You lost one patient, and it wasn't your fault." Wilson responded. House furrowed his brow. Something bugged at the edge of his thoughts, like a light feather brushing in his mind.

"I just watched her die like an idiot." He grunted, shaking his head. Taub stepped out of Raiven's room, looking downcast. He looked sideways at House and Wilson, but then seemed to have second thoughts about speaking to the two of them at the moment, and headed towards the diagnostic offices.

"You've lost patients before," Wilson began, seeming to try a new tactic. "and you'll lose patients again."

"Exactly. Why?" House burst out, his anger and frustration at both himself and the world in general getting the best of him. "Because love and happiness are nothing but distractions!" Suddenly, he felt like his head was splitting in two, and he gripped at his temples, groaning loudly.

"House?" Wilson asked, but his voice seemed faint. Well, it _was_ faint, but within a moment's time, both Wilson and his voice were gone, and House finds himself in another place and time entirely.

**xxxxxx**

_"The only thing my relationship with Cuddy has done for me is make me a worse doctor." House insists drunkenly, setting down his half empty glass of scotch on the bar. He hears Wilson chuckle beside him, and he gives his friend a questioning look._

_"Right, the great Dr. House doesn't deserve to be happy." Wilson says as House takes a long draught of his drink. "You know it's not true!"_

_"My happiness is being paid for with other people's lives." House replies. Wilson lets out an exasperated breath, running a hand through his hair. "How is she?" He asks, knowing he doesn't need to specify who 'she' is. Wilson pauses before answering._

_"She's worried... she's upset that you didn't show up tonight." He tells him. House looks away, shame coursing through him. He has failed her and his patient._

_"I gotta tell her the truth, Wilson." He mutters, finishing his glass off. He shakily stands up, his already poor balance completely ruined by the alcohol in his system. Wilson laughs as he quickly snatched House's keys off of the bar._

_"First... first, you're not driving anywhere, and second, you're definitely not talking to Cuddy like this!" He lectures as House stares at him blankly. He knows Wilson is talking, but he's not really listening._

_"Okay." House mumbles in response. "Then I'm gonna walk." He limps slowly out of the bar, Wilson sighing behind him. Once he's outside, he decides that taking a cab is probably a better idea than walking in the rainy and abysmal weather. He hails the nearest cab and is soon on his way to Cuddy's. He stares forlornly out of the cab window, ignoring the small talk attempts made by the driver. His drunken mind moves slowly, and really can only think of one thing._

_He has to talk to Cuddy._

_In due time, he arrives at her house. He walks up the short sidewalk, rain drenching him thoroughly. When he reaches her door, he doesn't even think of how late it is. How Rachel might be sleeping. How Cuddy herself is probably sleeping off her disappointment in him._

_He begins knocking on the door rhythmically with both his fist and his cane, trying to get her attention. After a few minutes, he hears faint footsteps from inside. She opens the door, her lips pursed. She is wrapped in a blanket and wears old pajamas that he's never seen before. She looks... well, she looks pissed._

_"We really, really need to talk." He tells her, trying to convey urgency in his voice. He walks in without her consent, brushing past her into the living room._

_"You're drunk, and you screwed up big time." When he ignores her, he can practically feel her irritation grow. "Go home!" She says loudly. When he doesn't respond, she resigns herself to shutting her front door, accepting his presence. "You completely disappeared on me." She continues as the door shuts. "You wouldn't even answer your cell phone-"_

_He interrupts her as she meets him in the living room. "You're gonna want to sit down for this." He tells her, waving blindly at the couch, his words slightly slurred. When she makes no move towards the sofa, he gestures at it again. "Go ahead. Sit, sit, sit, sit, sit!" He says, cramming all of the words into one syllable._

_She seems too tired and exasperated to argue, so she takes a seat on the couch, wrapping her blanket more tightly around herself. House takes a deep breath, ready to begin what he has determined is a stirring speech._

_"I've made a decision." He declares, leaning on his cane with both hands. "Being happy and being in love with you makes me a crappy doctor." Cuddy just shakes her head, her anger turning slowly into hurt... and some more anger, too._

_"Shut up. You're too drunk to end this relationship." She says, her administrator voice taking lead._

_"I am drunk. But I'm also right." House insists. He points an accusing finger at Cuddy. "You have made me a worse doctor, and people are going to die because of that." He says gravely, but with the drunken note to his voice, it doesn't come out quite how he wanted it to. Maybe he shouldn't have had this conversation drunk..._

_Cuddy just stares at him, temporarily speechless. He takes this as his cue to finish._

_"And... you..." He sniffs, residual rain water trickling down his face. He points again, to emphasize what he's about to say. "are TOTALLY worth it." He finishes. Cuddy still seems pissed, but her expression lightens somewhat. He limps towards her and plops down on the couch next to her._

_"If I had to choose between saving everyone or loving you, and being happy, I choose you. I choose being happy with you." He explains, tiredness threatening to overwhelm him. As he leans over and lays his head in her lap, using it as a pillow, he adds, "I will always choose you." He nuzzles into her, smiling contentedly. He then laughed, a humorous thought striking him. "My head's on your vagina." He feels a hand on his back._

_"Go to sleep, House." Cuddy sighs. He knows everything isn't forgiven, but right now, he's okay with that. He has said what needed to be said._

_"Yeah, I am kind of tired..."_

**xxxxxx**

Wilson jumped in worry when House groaned and gripped his head in his hands. He immediately got off of the bench and stooped to his knees in front his friend, trying to see what was hurting him. "House? What's happening?"

The groan progressed into a scream, and House slammed his head back shockingly hard into the wall. _No! He's already sustained two bad injuries to his brain!_

After the impact, House's entire body went limp and he slid off of the bench to meet his cane on the ground. Wilson's heart beat frantically in his chest. "I NEED SOME HELP OVER HERE!" He shouted, trying desperately to catch the attention of the nurses milling about the ICU. He shook House, and when he didn't respond, he pried open one of his eyes, displaying the perfect blue eye underneath. _Damn, he's out._

Nurses heaved House onto a gurney (with Wilson's help) and he ordered them to deposit House in a private ICU room immediately. He didn't care if his friend had just knocked himself out for twenty minutes, the screaming beforehand was what scared him the most... and now the jarring of his near fatal brain injury on top of it...

_Damn it._

**xxxxxx**

Hennessy and Wilson hovered in House's room, both of them somber and silent. They had ordered a cranial CT, and they were currently waiting for it to arrive so they could see the amount of damage that had been done to House's skull.

He had called Hennessy as soon as House had been transported to the same private room in the ICU he had stayed in while he was recovering from his accident. It was like some kind of sick reminder that House might be right back where he was (mentally) that he had been all those months again.

"So he could really lose it all again?" He breathed, breaking the silence between him and his... friend? He wasn't really sure where he and the pretty young psychologist stood at the moment. It had been his intention tonight to take the next step in their relationship, try and create something concrete between them, or at least convince her to let him take her out on another date...

It appeared that fate had other ideas. The night had gone so well until this disaster had occurred.

"We won't know until we do the cranial CT... but it is a possibility." She told him gently. She hugged herself, no doubt cold in her thin green dress. He slipped off his suit jacket and passed it to her wordlessly. Hennessy was not on call right now. She was there as a friend, not as a doctor. After all, Collins was House's attending.

"I can't believe this. Things were getting better. Things were getting back to normal, finally, after everything he's been through, and then this happens. He loses Cuddy, his patient, and possibly the few amount of memories he has all in one night." He sighed, the night having taken so much out of him.

"What exactly happened with Cuddy and House, anyway?" Hennessy asked carefully, clearly not sure as to whether she should pry or not. Wilson was slowly getting used to the 'out of work' Hennessy, who was in sharp contrast to her professional persona.

"God, I don't even know. Apparently House kissed her, she kissed back, and then Cuddy backed away and said she couldn't do it." He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. "You could tell how much it hurt him." He said quietly as he cast a sidelong glance at his unconscious friend. _At least he's not in a coma._

Before Hennessy could reply, the door opened behind them, and a shocked looking Cuddy, Thirteen, Collins, Chase, and Foreman walked in. Wilson frowned at the sudden crowd of people in there, and Chase noticed. He grabbed Foreman by the elbow, giving him a pointed look.

"We'll go grab coffee." He said, the two men heading out of the door. Cuddy stared in disbelief at House, her mouth open in a way that reminded him of how House had looked when Cuddy had turned her back on him barely an hour earlier. Collins and Thirteen hovered on either side of her, worried looks on both of their faces.

"What. Happened." Cuddy demanded, steel in her voice and fire in her blue-gray eyes. Wilson looked at her, trying to suppress the anger he felt at his friend at the moment.

"He lost his patient. We were talking out in the hallway, and he suddenly grabbed his head, groaned, then screamed, and he thrust his head back into the wall and knocked himself out." He explained in a tense voice.

"Did he speak after that? Show any indication of what was happening to him?" Collins inquired, slipping back into doctor mode. Wilson shook his head. "No, it was completely out of nowhere. I don't even know what set him off." He was stumped as to House's sudden... freak out? He couldn't think of a better word for it. Wilson looked to Hennessy, pursing his lips.

"Could this have anything to do with the... memory?" He asked. He figured that House would understand violating his confidentiality in an emergency. Cuddy paled, and Collins furrowed her brow, but Thirteen had no reaction. _Did House tell her?_

"I honestly don't know." Hennessy admitted, looking like she felt as helpless as Wilson did.

"Memory?" Cuddy repeated incredulously. "Has he gained any of his memory back?" She practically looked like she was going to explode. He didn't blame her. When he had realized that House had remembered something, he couldn't even describe what he had felt.

"Yeah." Wilson told her. "The bus crash. It's the only one so far-"

"Two." Thirteen spoke up for the first time, refusing to meet his eyes. Wilson stopped dead in his tracks, eyes glued to her.

"What?" He asked. _Two memories? How would Thirteen know? More importantly, why wouldn't House tell me...?_

"He's had two memories. He had one last night about when he lost his mind after Kutner killed himself." She swallowed, her eyes looking haunted. Wilson felt stung by House confiding in Thirteen instead of him. "He didn't want to wake up you." Thirteen said quickly.

He suspected she was lying to bandage the wound to some degree. House's words from after Cuddy's and his falling out came back to him.

_"I can't be who she wants me to be. Who everyone wants me to be." _

Is that why House didn't tell him about his second memory? Because he thought that he wished the old House was here, instead of him? He shook his head, trying to clear his muddled thoughts.

"Cranial CT is on it's way." Wilson choked, trying to control his rising emotions. "For now, let's assume he's fine, and he'll wake up in a few hours."

Little did he know that inside of his own mind, House was living through the hell of his worst memories.

* * *

**Author's Note: Now, my cases are generally accurate, but anything regarding House's head injuries and memories are strictly conducted by plot. Also, I am not doing the, "Oh, House bumped his poor head again and now remembers EVERYTHING.". Cheap, overdone plot move, folks. **


	29. My Body is a Cage

**Chapter 29: My Body is a Cage**

**Disclaimer: Hennessy and Collins are mine, but the rest belong to David Shore and the Fox Production Company.**

* * *

_The alarm beats for only a second before he hears Cuddy punch the snooze. She rolls over, no doubt wondering where he is. "House?" She asks. He smiles to himself, shifting under the bed so he can peek out beneath the bed skirt. She sighs and throws her legs over the edge of the bed, stretching her sleep worn muscles. He chooses this moment to launch his hand out and ensnare her ankle._

_"Oh my God!" She shouts, head twisting around to see his hand. "What the hell?"_

_"Mwahahaha!" He lets out a maniacal laugh as he pokes his head out from under the bed, a goofy smile on his face. "Gotcha."_

_"Did you actually wake up early and hide under the bed just to scare the crap out of me?" She asks, both affection and exasperation in her voice. She looks beautiful, even just out of bed. He points at the alarm clock._

_"Set an alarm and everything." He tells her. She rolls her eyes. He can tell she's suppressing a laugh._

_"It's like dating a ten year old." She sighs. He makes a mock thinking look before he responds._

_"God, I hope not." He replies with a smirk. She beams down at him and lets out a chuckle as she drops to her knees next to him. She leans in and kisses him deeply for a few brief moments before reluctantly withdrawing. "Now that we're down here..." He trails off._

_"Hold that thought." She says. She pushes herself up off the ground with a slight groan._

_"Seriously!?" He exclaims, feigning annoyance._

_"I have to pee." She explains as she pads off to the bathroom._

_"I'll wait. I brought a book." He calls after her. He really did bring a book. He pulls out the medical journal he had been reading before she woke up and opens to the page he was on. "Didn't know what time your alarm was set for." He elaborates._

_"House?" She calls his name from the bathroom._

_"You know, you could rent this space out down here. In Japan, that would be like a deluxe-" He jokes, but Cuddy cuts him off, a note of fear creeping into her voice._

_"House, shut up." He hears the bedroom door open, and he scoots more of his body out from under the bed to meet her eyes._

_"There's blood in my urine."_

**xxxxxx**

"So there's nothing? No new fractures?" Wilson asked to clarify. Collins sighed, motioning at the scan of House's skull.

"You tell me. There's nothing there, only a very mild concussion. He should have woken up by now." She told him. Hennessy hovers nearby. Her area of expertise is the awake mind, so she is there as a friend, not a doctor.

"Then why hasn't he?" Wilson wonder out loud. Collins sighed.

"I can only guess that because of all of his previous skull injuries, his brain is a bit slower to come out of a state of unconsciousness. His pupils are reactive and equal, he's not in a coma - he's simply knocked out." She explained. Wilson bit the inside of his lip, running a hand through his hair.

"He could be out for days, couldn't he?" Wilson inquired. Collins nodded.

"Yes, that may well happen. Was House in a state of exhaustion before this happened?" She asked. Wilson nodded. The day had taken quite a toll on House, with his still shaky legs.

"That may have something to do with why he hasn't come out of it, yet. House has survived so much that a normal person couldn't that sometimes I don't like making assumptions or predictions with him, but if I had to hazard a guess I'd say he'll be up by tomorrow morning... with luck." She said, looking tired. It was midnight now, and all the people who been there for the charity ball had left. Chase and Thirteen had gone home, with strict instructions to call them if there were any changes. Foreman was waiting for Collins, since he was her ride. He was currently in the doctor's lounge.

Cuddy had been a silent observer, barely speaking a word since House had been brought to the ICU. "Collins, you should go home." Wilson said gently. "We can handle things here, you look dead on your feet."

Collins looked like she wanted to argue, but slowly nodded. "If anything at all changes, call me." She ordered, a fierce look in her eye. Wilson held up his hands.

"I will, I promise."

**xxxxxx**

_"Angio showed a clot in a branch of his mid-cerebral artery. We started him on streptokinase to break it up." Foreman tells him as he strips off his coat. "Although, maybe we should've just played a few rounds of Savagescape 2: The Revenge, because that's OBVIOUSLY the best way to make someone feel better." He lectures, coming around the couch to give House a disapproving look._

_"If you keep talking like Wilson, your face will freeze like that." House admonishes, finally pausing the game._

_"However bad you think you're going to be in that room, not being in the room is worse." Foreman says quietly. House licks his lips, not wanting to discuss the subject further. He came to Foreman's apartment instead of Wilson's loft for the specific reason of avoiding a speech on what he should be doing. Foreman sighs and sits down on the couch next to him._

_"When she breaks up with you, you're playing by yourself." He picks up the player two gun and joins the game, and House welcomes the distraction._

_They play through the first set of levels, and House has to admit that Foreman's good, almost a good as him... but not quite. Just as they begin to fight the first boss, House's cell phone rings. House flips it open, hoping whatever it is, it will be brief._

_"Yeah." He answers, not bothering to check the caller ID._

_"House... it's me." He freezes. It's Cuddy. His gun falls loosely out of his hand, and Foreman pauses the game to look at him with concern. He doesn't respond, but he knows that she knows he's still there. "The imaging..." Her voice cracks. "The imaging showed enhancing masses across multiple lobes of my lungs. They're thinking I've got kidney cancer, and it's metastasized to my lungs." She sounds like she's been crying._

_"Okay." Is all he can say. He finds himself hanging up on her, feeling more useless than he ever has in his entire life._

_He explains the situation to Foreman. He knows what this means._

_"She's dead." He whispers._

**xxxxxx**

Hennessy slept in one of the chairs in House's room, her long brown hair spread all over her face, and her mouth hanging open slightly. Wilson had to admit, she looked adorable when she was sleeping.

However, there were much more important things at hand. Although Wilson was mildly upset with Cuddy at the moment, he was starting to worry about her almost as much as he was worried for House. She sat in the chair next to his bed, gripping his hand for dear life, her stormy blue-gray eyes shining.

"Cuddy." Wilson said her name quietly. At first he thought she hadn't heard him, but finally she looked at him, her eyes lost and scared.

"I rejected him." She murmured. She moved her other hand to House's head, smoothing down his brownish gray hair.

"Why?" Wilson asked, still lost (and slightly angry) over her sudden change of heart. "Were you just playing him this whole time? You didn't really want to be with him? Just took pity on the poor, brain damaged-" He felt himself getting angrier and angrier. House had fought so hard for everything since the accident, and think he had almost had Cuddy back, and then to have his hope shattered...

"No!" Cuddy nearly screamed. "No, I wanted to be with him... I still want to be with him... just..." She blinked, and Wilson noticed that her lip was trembling slightly. "You know he's not the same." Wilson let out a heavy breath.

"Yes, I do. And so did you. Why did you give him hope with-"

"I _didn't_ know." She defended, her voice raw with emotion. "I thought... I mean, I knew he was different, Wilson. I thought he was still _House_, though." Wilson simply raised an eyebrow at her, indicating for her to elaborate. "When we kissed, I realized that he's not House. Same body. Same genius. Different man." She let out a sad laugh as a tear leaked from one of her eyes. "More functional and reliable, ironically, but..."

"You loved the old House." Wilson stated. "But now..."

"I feel like I'm betraying who he was before. Everything we had." She put her head in her hands. "God, Wilson, this is all my fault. If I hadn't left him in the first place, he wouldn't be here. None of this would have happened. He wouldn't have tried the experimental rat drugs, he wouldn't have tried to perform surgery on himself in his bathtub, and he wouldn't have discharged himself early and gotten hit by a semi." Her small body shook, and he closed the distance between them and rubbed a hand on her back.

He understood her guilt. He remembered how he felt after Amber. If he had done just one or two things differently, she wouldn't have died. It was that thinking that nearly destroyed him, not to mention his and House's friendship.

"I can't love _him_ when I'm already in love with someone else." She mumbled through the tears.

**xxxxxx**

_He has to be there for her. He cannot let her face surgery - and possibly death, alone. Yet he can't bring himself to abandon his glass of scotch and leave his apartment and go to her, like any other man would. He is not strong enough. He wishes he was._

_There is only one way he'll be able to go to her, now. To hold her hand and comfort her. He shakily lifts himself from the couch, both dreading and anticipating what he is about to do._

_He walks into his bathroom, his eyes firmly glued to the mirror. There is no need for theatrics this time. He lowers the mirror from the wall, and reaches into the alcove behind it. There are two vicodin bottles there. Feeling a sickening sense of deja vu, he removes one of the bottles. He doesn't need many. Hell, with how long he's been clean, one will probably do._

_Showing remarkable restraint, he unscrews the cap of the first orange bottle and removes a solitary pill. He hesitates for only a moment before he dry swallows it._

_He isn't doing it for him, he's doing it for her. He wants to be what she needs._

**xxxxxx**

"So he just screamed and then threw his head back against the wall?" Cuddy whispered after nearly an hour passed. She had cried for a long time, Wilson offering what silent comfort he could, but now she seemed so worn she couldn't muster much emotion at all. They were both drained.

"Yeah." He confirmed. "That's what scares me the most. I have no idea what that was about. It was like he was having a... fit, or something."

"We haven't seen him under extreme emotional stress since he woke up. Maybe the brain injury went deeper than we thought." She voiced what he been worrying about for the past several hours.

"The worst part is, he figured out what was wrong with Raiven. If we had had just a few more minutes, he probably could have saved her." Wilson told her, running a hand through his hair and holding back a yawn.

"What did she have?" She asked. He could tell she was trying to distract herself from the unconscious man in front of her.

"Muckle-Wells syndrome." He informed her.

"God, that's rare." She observed before furrowing her brow. "Except..."

"What?" Wilson dragged over a chair, finally sitting down after standing for so long.

"House's patient, the bankrupt real estate developer that was lying to his wife, isn't that what he had?" She asked. Wilson thought about it for a moment. That was the patient House had right before the charity gala, the one...

The one that died. _Oh my God. _He replayed his conversation with House in his mind, and with a force that hit him like a brick wall, he realized that the conversation they had after Raiven's death was shockingly similar to the one they had after Bert's.

"Cuddy!" Wilson gasped. "He must have had another memory!" Cuddy paled as her eyes widened. "Listen, there's four common denominators. House lost a patient. There was an event going on. You and him were having problems. Then our conversation. They must have jogged his memory, so he remembered something while he was awake instead of when he was sleeping!"

"That doesn't explain why he freaked out, though." Cuddy said, not seeming entirely convinced.

"Maybe it was sensory overload, having it while he was awake. I'm not sure about that, but this makes sense - he must have remembered something else, I'm guessing what happened after his patient died last year." Wilson theorized.

"Wilson." Cuddy murmured, looking at House and seeming to hold back another sob. "You do realize what happened just a few days after that?"

Wilson was drawing a blank. "Well, it was last March, so... oh." He looked at House's unconscious form. Even knocked out, he held an anguished look on his face.

"He... he might be remembering the break up."

**xxxxxx**

_Looking back, he may have known before he even opened the door that it was the end._

_He hears a soft knock on the door, so he knows it's her and not Wilson. He opens up the door, a soft smile on his face. He is practically blissful, and he has been since the news that she was fine. The relief hadn't dissipated, even over twenty four hours later._

_Then he sees the look on her face, and his heart drops like a stone. She wastes no time._

_"You took vicodin." It's not a question. Hell, it isn't even an accusation - it's just a statement of fact. A lifetime ago, he may have denied, but in that moment he knows that he cannot lie to her anymore. "When you came to my hospital room that night, you were stoned."_

_He looks away from her for a moment, trying to think of a response. Anything that could change the look on her face. The one of miserable resignation - the look of someone who has given up, and partly hates herself for it._

_"How did you know?" He asks. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose._

_"How did I not know?" She seems to direct the question at herself, not at him. "How did I make myself forget for months that you're an addict?" The words sting. The illusion that she accepts him for him is shattered. He turns away, unable to look at her. "My subconscious was trying to tell me you could never get through this without drugs." He paces, trying to think of a rebuttal - an apology, anything that can make this better._

_He places a fist against his forehead and sighs. "It was a one time thing." He tells her, and he means it. If she will look past this and give him another chance, it truly will only be one time._

_"It's not about the pills, House. It's about what they mean." She responds._

_"I was scared because I thought my girlfriend might die." He defends, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice._

_"No." She says, sending an spear through his heart. "You don't take vicodin because you're scared. You take it so you won't feel pain. Everything you've ever done is to avoid pain. Drugs, sarcasm, keeping everyone at arm's length so no one can hurt you." Now her words hold a hint of accusation. She closes the distance between them, stopping just a few inches away._

_It hurts that she doesn't believe him. He was scared - no, scared isn't the word for it. Terrified fits better. He needs her. What hurts more is that she thinks he is so one dimensional, just an addict trying to hide from pain. That is how highly she thinks of him._

_"As opposed to everyone else in the world, who goes looking for pain like it's buried treasure." Maybe she's right. Maybe he does hide behind his sarcasm._

_"Pain happens when you care. You can't love someone without making yourself open to their problems, their fears." She says. "And you're not willing to do that."_

_She doesn't understand that what she's saying is exactly what he's done. He has opened himself up to her more than anyone... ever. But she doesn't see that. How can't she see that?_

_"I came to be with you!" He says. He did it for her, he took the vicodin for her - so he could be there for her when she needed him._

_"But you weren't with me, not really." He feels his eyes stinging._

_"I wanted to be." He whispers._

_"Well... that's not enough." His heart clenches so tightly he can barely breathe. No. No, this can't be it._

_"I can do better." He assures her._

_"I don't think you can. You'll choose yourself over everybody else, over and over again, because that's just who you are."_

_He wants to argue. He knows it's not who he is. He wishes she knew that too. However, he is locked in place, unable to refute her words. Her eyes are glistening as she reaches up to cup his cheek. "I'm sorry."_

_He snaps back into motion, and words fly out of his mouth._

_"No, no, no, no. Don't. DON'T." He pleads._

_"I thought I could do this." She says, her eyes glistening._

_"Don't. Please don't." He is begging her, and normally that would make him sick, but right now he doesn't care. At all. He just wants her to stay. She puts a hand on his chest._

_"Goodbye, House."_

_She leaves him standing in the doorway of his apartment, his mouth hanging open slightly. He watches her walk away, and there's only one word he can think of to describe how he feels in that moment._

_Empty._


	30. Forget Your Troubles

**Chapter 30: Forget Your Troubles**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD.**

* * *

Wilson ran a hand through his hair, looking enviously at Hennessy, wishing he could sleep as easily as the young psychologist. It was pushing five in the morning now, and Wilson was now debating whether to continue trying to nap, or to give up and pump himself full of coffee to fight off his exhaustion.

He could see that Cuddy was fighting a similar internal battle. Her hand was still fixed firmly to House's, and she was looking at him just as she had during his coma several months earlier, during the visits she had been able to manage. Like if she looked away, he might disappear.

The two of them had been silent since their realization that House might be reliving some of his memories, most likely some of his most painful ones. Maybe they were both just trying to grasp what their friend was going through. Maybe they didn't know what should be said in this situation. It reminded him of the silent vigil that occurred while House was in emergency surgery directly after the accident.

"I don't have any idea what I want in life." Cuddy said suddenly. Wilson looked up at her blearily. Hennessy still snoozed in one of the chairs in the corner, her soft, rhythmic breathing one of the only sounds in the room for the past couple of hours.

"What?" Wilson asked, not knowing what prompted Cuddy's abrupt admission.

"House told me that, once. That I don't know have a clue what I want." She elaborated. "He was right."

"He tends to do that sometimes." Wilson responded tiredly. "Stop blaming yourself for this. We all make mistakes, it's not like you were the one who threw the semi at him." He was long past blaming Cuddy for this. Right now, he just wanted House to wake up so he knew what the hell was going on with him.

"What if he gets his memory back?" Cuddy asked him, lacing her fingertips together and resting her chin on them. Wilson sighed as he stared at his feet.

"I don't know, Cuddy. I don't know." He replied honestly. "He's happier than I've ever seen him. He hates his old self, he likes who he is now. But speaking from a purely selfish point of view-"

"You miss the old him." Cuddy finished for him. Wilson nodded.

"Yeah. A lot."

**xxxxxx**

_"You were bored." Wilson says, beginning in on the lecture House has been expecting. He thumbs his forehead, wishing Wilson would just drop it. "You must have spent about two days setting up a fake murder, and you were bored." The bar thrums with a mild crowd, but he knows that it's not yet late enough for the college kids to file in en masse._

_"I'm fine." He responds with little inflection before taking a deep drink of his scotch, draining the remainder of his glass._

_"You're not!" Wilson retorts immediately. He suppresses a wave of anger at his friend. How does he know whether he's fine or not? In his opinion, Wilson is being a presumptuous asshole. "And I'm worried you might do something even stupider." House sets his glass down on the bar, not dignifying Wilson's comment with a response._

_Wilson licks his lips nervously before continuing. "Why don't you move back in with me? At least until you get back on track." He ventures, waiting for his reaction._

_"What an ego." He snaps, unable to contain his irritation. "You think you're some sort of emotional paragon, you're my rock."_

_"I'm trying to be a friend." Wilson defends, seeming a little hurt by his words. Right now, he doesn't give a shit._

_"At least I had the good sense not to marry every woman I fall into bed with." He notices the look in Wilson's eyes, then taps his hands on the table, seeing that he may have gone too far. "Maybe you should move in with me." he suggests sarcastically._

_"Either way, if you prefer-"_

_"I prefer you to stop talking about this!" He bursts out._

_"House, we haven't even started talking about this, except to establish the fact that you're fine, which clearly you aren't-" While his friend rambles on, he closes his eyes and tries to block out his incessant prattling._

_"LEAVE ME ALONE!" He yells. Wilson finally pauses for a second to look at him worriedly._

_"No." He responds adamantly. "We are going to talk about this, and we're going to deal with this." What enrages him the most is Wilson's use of the pronoun, 'we'. Cuddy dumped HIM, broke HIS heart, left HIM alone. There was no 'we' about it._

_"So, I have no choice." He surmises. Wilson shakes his head in a silent answer. "Unless..." He trails off, putting on a mocking deep-thinking face. "Unless... yes! Yes, I do! I do have legs! I see you didn't factor those into your brilliant plan."_

_He promptly stands up and stalks away from his friend, glad to be free of him. Right now, he wants to be alone. It seems that he's doomed to that regardless, so he may as well get used to it._

**xxxxxx**

"I give up." Cuddy said, rising from her seat. "I'm getting coffee. Do you want anything?" She asked. Wilson snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at her.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." He said. Any anger between the two of them had dissipated. They were too worn down by the events of the past day and following night. She knew that Wilson didn't bother telling her how he took his coffee; she already knew. Their weekly lunches taught her a thing or two about Wilson's eating habits.

She exited House's room, taking a breath of the sterilized air of the ICU. She felt like she was suffocating in House's room, it was a relief to get out for a short while. The sun would be rising about an hour from now. A juvenile part of her hoped that the minute the sun peeked over the horizon, it would magically wake the diagnostician, but she knew that when it came to House and his already damaged brain, there were no certainties.

_He's just unconscious. Just unconscious. _She reminded herself. He had banged his head, that was the limit of his physical injuries. She turned the corner, halfway to the doctor's lounge when she crashed headlong into someone. She stumbled and caught herself with her hands, barely keeping herself from a full on face plant.

She looked up, her messy dark curls hanging in her face, and saw a pale, feminine hand extended towards her.

"Sorry, Cuddy. You came around so fast I didn't see you." With the sound of the familiar voice, Cuddy brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up.

Allison Cameron, wearing a loose egg shell colored blouse and well fit dark jeans hovered over her. Her hair was still blond and curly, looking more or less the same then the last time she saw the immunologist over two years ago.

**xxxxxx**

_He stares down at his patient, wondering how he can make the decision to give up something he loves so easily. He sees a bit of himself reflected in the bull rider, but he is distracted by the sound of the sliding glass door opening behind him. _

_"House." He turns to see the last person in the world he wants to speak with. Cuddy. "We need to talk."_

_Of course they do. Everyone wants to fucking talk. Because that will solve something, of course. They can all sit in a circle and talk about their feelings, and everything will be better. If he didn't need consent for Lane's surgery, he would've ignored her, but unfortunately, she is still his boss._

_He reluctantly follows her out of the room, limping slowly behind her. His legs hurts much more than usual, unsurprisingly._

_"You didn't really expect me to say yes to rupturing his aorta, did you?" She asks, wasting no time. She stops in front of him, meeting his gaze head on._

_"Since I didn't ask, I wasn't expecting you to say anything at all."_

_"You have no reason to believe this will save his life." Cuddy insisted. He's glad they're talking about his patient, and not their relationship. That's the last thing he wants to think or speak about. He hopes that Cuddy gets that, unlike Wilson._

_"Really? No reason, none at all, I'm just planning on cracking open his chest and blowing up his heart, to what, pad his bill?" He snaps, not caring that his words are sharpened to a point. It's not his job to care about her feelings. When she says nothing, he continues._

_"Or do you think that since you broke my heart, I want to break his?" He asks. She purses her lips and searches his face._

_"I don't know. I think maybe you're looking for something that can excite you, fill a void... and it's affecting your judgment." House averts his eyes before he answers her careful accusation._

_"You're right, I am... but my damaged, depressed, drug addled judgment is still better than yours or any other doctor's in this hospital. My team is going to do this procedure and save his life. So, you can either have security arrest me and my team, or you can get the hell out of my way." He leaves her no room for an argument. All he has to do is watch her eyes for a few seconds to know that his blunt words have broken her. "And she caves."_

_He limps past her without another word, and has a sick sense of satisfaction that he can still get to her. That he can hurt her a little bit, even if he can't get retribution for what she did to him._

**xxxxxx**

Cuddy blinked rapidly as she took the younger woman's hand to haul herself up.

"Cameron!" She exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" She asked, not unkindly. Cameron was about the last person she expected to see at the hospital at six in the morning. Cameron tilted her head in confusion.

"For the charity ball." She said, as if it was obvious. _Well, it kind of is. It's one of the only reasons a doctor from out of state would be here... but why is she still here?_

"I didn't see you anywhere, did you get here late?" Cuddy asked. She motioned down the hall. "Here, walk with me, I'm getting coffee."

"Doctor's lounge?" Cameron asked. Cuddy nodded. "Well, since my promotion, things have been kind of messy. I didn't get my invitation until a few days before the event, so I had to book a cheap flight that would get me here just in time. A snow storm hit Chicago and my flight got delayed by two hours. I got to the hospital around ten thirty last night, the ball was almost halfway over."

"I... I had to leave the party early." Cuddy said evasively. By that time last night, she was rushing up to the ICU, having just received word that House was knocked out.

"I didn't even see Foreman, Chase, Taub - anyone. Does House's team have a case?" She asked. Cuddy looked at her with pursed lips.

"Cameron, have you been in contact with anyone since you left?" She asked carefully. Cameron nodded slowly.

"A few months after I left, I came back to make sure Chase signed the divorce papers. Since then, pretty much just exchanged Christmas and birthday cards with him, Foreman, and Wilson. I haven't spoken to any of them since last spring, I think." She told her. Cuddy sighed.

"Did you tell anyone you were coming?" She asked. Cameron shook her head.

"No, like I said, I only had about two days notice. I'm only going to be here until this afternoon, I figured there wasn't really a need to make any extensive plans." She replied as they reached the door to the doctor's lounge. Cuddy pushed the door open, letting Cameron go in before her.

"You mentioned a promotion?" She inquired. She knew that Cameron had been running the ER at Chicago General, but she hadn't heard of her getting promoted.

"Yep." Cameron gave Cuddy a small smile as they walked into the empty doctor's lounge. "I'm Dean of Medicine now." Cuddy felt happy for the other woman. At first when she had met Cameron, she had worried that she was much too naive to be a decent doctor, but her years with House had turned her into one of the best medical minds in the field. She deserved the job.

"That's fantastic." Cuddy said, trying to drum up as much enthusiasm as she could considering the current circumstances. "So what are you doing here so early?"

"Oh, I just slept in the on-call room. Every half-way decent place in town was booked solid, and I figured I might as well just stay here for nostalgia's sake." Cameron made her way over to the coffee maker. "Relax, I've got it." She said when Cuddy reached to start making her own.

"Could you make some for Wilson too? I told him I'd grab him some. Double cream and sugar."

"No problem."

"So... you don't know?" Cuddy asked, not being able to think of a better way to phrase the question. Cameron turned her head and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Know what?" She replied carefully. Cuddy closed her eyes for a second, mentally cursing her employees for not informing Cameron of House's condition earlier. Did it never occur to any of them to call her? _I can't blame them. I didn't think of it either._

"House was in an accident several months ago." Cuddy said, resigning herself to explaining everything to Cameron as she sank down on the couch.

**xxxxxx**

_He sits on his bed, massaging his thigh. The pain is at it's worst. He can't remember the last time it was this unbearable. He winces, reaching absent mindedly for the vicodin bottle on his nightstand. The hotel room is a complete disaster. An empty bottle of Champaign, shot glasses, half eaten food, broken arrows, and a Hurdy-Gurdy litter the once clean hospital floor._

_Whatever, it's not like he has to clean it up. He empties four vicodin into his hand and dry swallows them without a second thought. It hasn't taken himself long to readjust to his vicodin habit. It's familiar... it's numbing. Even blowing up a guy's heart to save his life didn't excite him. Hell, it barely interested him. What if this is it? What if by losing Cuddy, he has somehow lost all meaning?_

_It's his own fault for putting so much into one person. For depending so much on Cuddy. But it's who he is - he finds one person, and he puts his entire existence and happiness on their shoulders. It's idiotic, and it's blown up in his face once again._

_He forces himself off of the hotel bed, his leg screaming in protest. He needs air. He needs to move. He limps slowly out of the room and onto the balcony, staring out over the skyline of the city. He stares down at the pool almost fifteen stories below. He misses the days when he could swim. He misses the days when he could run, could jump, play lacrosse._

_He misses being whole._

_For a moment, he ponders jumping. As long as he jumped out far enough, he would hit the water and not the hard cement. It's an insane idea... suddenly, he's not just pondering it, he's legitimately considering it._

_Maybe this is what he needs to feel a rush... to feel something, anything at all._

_Ignoring his leg as best as he can, he lifts himself up onto the railing of the balcony and looks down at the pool and crowd below. The longer he stands there, a small crowd starts to form. Just as he's finally made up his mind to give his ridiculous idea a shot, he sees a familiar brown-haired head in the crowd._

_He knows this is going to piss Wilson off and scare him as well, but right now, it doesn't stand a chance of stopping him._

_He jettisons himself off the railing, and only once he's falling through the empty air does he realize that he might die doing this._

_Strangely, he doesn't care._


	31. Anywhere But Here

**Chapter 31: Anywhere But Here**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD.**

* * *

_He limps slowly to stand behind her, hearing the quiet sobs escaping her throat, just like they had last night in the hotel room. He stops about a foot away from her in the grassy clearing amidst the trees. A light spring breeze lightly kisses the side of his face and blows Thirteen's hair over her wet eyes._

_"He couldn't do it himself." He realizes with thinly concealed shock that she is finally opening up to him, finally telling him why she was in prison. "He was... the disease had progressed too far. He was flailing... he didn't have any control over his own body." She drags in a ragged breath and continues._

_"He'd pretty much lost control of his mind too, but every once in awhile, he would have a few seconds of lucidity. He turned to me... and he said, 'It's time'. I hooked up the IV..." She sighs, shaking her head. "I used gloves. I knew they'd get me on the drugs, but they couldn't prove I pushed the plunger." She sobs, staring at the ground. There are a few moments of silence before she speaks again._

_"I put in the needle, and he just... got quiet... and it was over." He's never seen her like this, her secrets thrown to hell and actually showing who she is. This isn't Thirteen, it's Remy. It's the first time in four years he's seen the real her. And the real her is terrified._

_"And I was alone. And one day, I will be that sick, and there will be no one there when it's time." She shook her head and stares blankly ahead. He can see the complete loss of hope, the hollow regret and despair in her eyes. He can tell how much she hates the world right now, hates the unfairness of it all._

_He knows he should say something. Put a hand on her shoulder, embrace her, offer a comforting word to her. He knows that she doesn't expect sympathy, but she expects a reaction. He feels oddly frozen. He feels... useless._

_She finally turns to look at him, sniffling, and meets his gaze head on. The moment drags on until the expectancy in her eyes transforms into anger. She chuckles bitterly and turns her head away._

_"I didn't expect compassion from you. I would've taken commiseration. Hell, I would've taken revulsion! ANY emotional engagement at ALL." She shakes her head in disappointment. "It's no wonder Cuddy broke up with you."_

_And to hear her say that, one of the few people whose opinion he values, the only person other than Wilson that House would even consider calling a friend, it hurts almost as bad as the breakup itself. To hear someone give validity to Cuddy leaving him._

_He feels his eyes stinging, and he knows that she notices. He blinks and looks away, refusing to meet her sorrowful blue-green eyes. Without another word, he walks away._

**xxxxxx**

"An accident?" Cameron echoed as she busied herself making coffee. "Do you mean like, he fell off of his bike and broke a leg, or-"

"He was blindsided by a semi." She cut Cameron off, there was no point in lessening the severity of House's near death experience. Cameron turned on her heel so fast she nearly knocked over the coffee pot.

"On his_ motorcycle!?_" She exclaimed. "Oh God... he's not..."

"He's alive." Cuddy assured her immediately. "He's alive and mostly fine, actually. But it's taken him a long time to recover. Nine people total got caught in the car crash, two dead. Thankfully, House wasn't one of them, but when he arrived at the hospital, he went into cardiac arrest and we nearly lost him. They managed to keep him alive long enough to get him into the OR." She almost winced at the painful memories, remembering when Thirteen had arrived in her office that spring night.

"His skull had been cracked open. They were almost positive from the get go that he had brain damage. Aside from that, all of his ribs were cracked, his maxilla was fractured, every bone in his left arm was shattered, and his left leg had an enormous gash. His right knee cap was shattered and his right arm had been pulled out of it's socket." She sighed. It was hard to believe she still had almost all of House's injuries memorized. "Both of his collar bones were shattered, and he had to get skin grafts for burns in several places. Also, he had surgery to remove two tumors in his leg just beforehand, so the stitches were torn out, and he lost a lot of blood. They had to remove his spleen, part of his intestine. Even after all of that, he was in a coma for a month straight. It's a miracle he survived at all, let alone regained consciousness." They all really had to count their blessings that House was still with them at all. _I shouldn't have taken that for granted, shouldn't have taken _him_ for granted._

Cameron's mouth hung open, utterly shocked by what Cuddy had just told her. _And the saddest thing is, I'm not even done. _

"With all the crap he's done to himself over the years, I can't believe he even survived that!" She said in wonder. "Did he sustain any brain damage from the coma?"

Cuddy sighed, massaging her temples to try and clear away some of the drowsiness. Cameron seemed to take the hint and returned to making coffee, but Cuddy knew she was still expecting an answer.

"Yes." She said, remembering the lost look in House's eyes when he had first awoken. That had been one of the most painful moments of her life, looking into the eyes of the man she loved and seeing no recognition there. "All of his memories were wiped out. He didn't even remember his own name."

"...my God..." Was all Cameron said, so Cuddy pressed on.

"He was also paralyzed from the waist down. Luckily it was temporary, he had to spend months in physical therapy. He just got back on his cane last week." Cuddy explained.

"Were there any other complications when he woke up?" She inquired worriedly.

"He was actually sick when he woke up. Started coughing up blood the morning after he came out of the coma. He progressed into full on hepatic failure later that day. If Thirteen hadn't donated a lobe of her liver, we would've lost him. She gave the team enough time to diagnose him. PTB that progressed to HTB. They saved him just in time."

After the emotionally draining night that Cuddy had experienced, one of the last things she wanted to do was go over even more unpleasant memories, but Cameron deserved to know, given the nature of her relationship with House. She was never one hundred percent sure about House's feelings towards the younger doctor, but she knew that Cameron cared deeply for House. Maybe even loved him.

**xxxxxx**

_He sucks in a deep breath as he prepares himself to attempt to move his leg. He is sitting on the table in his kitchen, dressed only in his tee shirt and boxers. He closes his eyes and tries to move his leg as far forward as he can, the resistance strap straining. The movement sends an excruciating bolt of pain through his leg, and he is forced to relent, his leg falling limply against the table leg._

_He drags in a few more ragged breaths. His eyes rake over the remnants of what used to be a perfectly healthy, strong, muscular leg. It's been so many years since it's been like that. He doesn't want to be broken. Thin shafts of gray morning light filter through his window, illuminating the grotesque cavern in his thigh muscle._

_He knows he has to try again. He gathers up what willpower he can muster and forces his foot as far in front of him as he can again, straining against the resistance strap for only a moment before the pain is unbearable, and he relents, gasping in agony. He places the foot of his good leg down on the cold kitchen floor, his hand flying to his thigh muscle, grasping it and wincing._

_He waits out the wave of pain, and finally, his leg returns to it's normal level of irritation. His phone rings on the table next to him, and he knows that it's time to put on a brave face and go to work. His eyes can't help but dart to the kitchen drawer that holds the drugs he has stolen, the drugs that should be helping, yet aren't._

_He leaves for work with a feeling of uncertainty, and a feeling that perhaps he is beyond help._

**xxxxxx**

"The team? Is it still Chase, Thirteen, Taub and Foreman?" She asked. Cuddy shook her head, even though Cameron couldn't see her.

"While House was out, yes, Chase led the team and worked with Taub, Thirteen, and Foreman. When House got sick once he woke up, Thirteen and Foreman stuck with their original patient and Chase and Taub worked with House's neurologist, Collins, to cure him. Foreman screwed up, lost their original patient. He resigned shortly afterwards." She informed Cameron in a subdued voice. The coffee was percolating now, so Cameron turned and made eye contact with Cuddy.

"Foreman quit? Again?" She asked, eyebrows nearly touching her hairline. Cuddy nodded.

"I guess he needed to move on... as the TB began to clear up, House entered physical therapy. He stayed at the hospital for another month before being discharged into Wilson's care. They've been living together since then. I suppose now that House is back on his feet he doesn't have to stay with him anymore, but they're just as close as they were before, if not more. I don't see House moving out of the loft anytime soon." She decided to keep going so she could get the story over with.

"He got his medical license back about a month after he moved in with Wilson-" Before she could finish her thought, Cameron's mouth fell open and she interrupted her.

"Wait, what? He got his license back? I thought you said he had no memory!"

"His procedural memory and general knowledge were perfectly retained. His psychologist, Hennessy, she said that recent studies have shown that patients with higher IQs can commit things more easily to their pre-frontal lobe, bypassing the hippocampus. House's medical knowledge _is _his general knowledge. With the help of his psychologist, we managed to convince the board to give him his license back. He's been in control of diagnostics for the past three weeks or so." Cuddy told her. Cameron turned and poured out three cups of coffee, giving each cup proper doses of cream and sugar.

"If it were anyone but House, I'd be surprised." She commented dryly. "So, are we at tonight now? There's got to be a reason none of you were at the charity ball, and why you're up this early and still in your dress." Cuddy looked down and blinked as she saw she was indeed still wearing her dress from the ball.

"This week, House has had two memories return." Cuddy explained in a solemn tone. "The first he's had. I didn't know until a couple of hours ago, and before that, Thirteen was the only one who knew about both of them." Cameron said nothing as she handed Cuddy her coffee, merely arched an eyebrow in a silent question regarding Thirteen and House. "They're closer than they use to be. He's closer to everyone than he used to be." Cuddy took a deep sip of her coffee, the warmth waking her up slightly.

"Tonight, his patient died. She had Muckle-Wells syndrome, which is something one of House's patients had last year, right before..." _Oh crap. She doesn't know. _"God, remind me to call you with monthly updates from now on. House and I got together nearly a year and a half ago. We separated last spring, and right before our break up he had a patient with Muckle-Wells. Wilson and I are thinking that the similar situations set off more memories. He bashed his head against the wall for some reason, sustained a mild concussion. He's in the ICU now, still unconscious."

Cameron just blinked several times. "Wow." She said quietly. Cuddy picked up Wilson's cup from the counter and looked at the immunologist.

"So. Now what?"

"I want to see him."

**xxxxxx**

_House eyes the pinpricks left on the crook of his arm from the repeated injections of the rat drugs, wincing slightly as he slides the syringe in. He's adjusting to the feeling, but it's still not a pleasant one. He sighs as he removes the needle, quickly untying the tourniquet from his arm, dropping it on the table and leaning forward on his knuckles. He can only hope that this crap starts working, and soon._

_"You're an idiot." A voice comes from beside him, and he jerks his head up to meet Thirteen's shocked eyes. He can't believe he didn't notice her standing there, only a few feet away._

_"How'd you get in here?" He exclaims, not sure how to address her accusations. He knows that she saw him inject the drugs, that's the only thing that would bring her to call him out like that._

_"My boss has me break into places all the time." She says with a shrug of her narrow shoulders, and he suppresses an eye roll. Without invitation, she walks into the kitchen, her high heeled boots clacking. She stops in front of him, her eyes demanding an answer._

_"Pain's been getting worse." He tells her as he moves away from the table and meets her head on. "Figured if I upped the Vicodin any more, I'd end up back in a rubber room." Thirteen doesn't respond, her eyes are glued to the small bags of white powder. "So, this seemed like a smarter choice."_

_He knows that she thinks he's on heroin. If he was her, he'd assume the same thing. It's not like no one has considered he's been on it before. After all, he's an addict. He's noticed that the people in his life don't really put any behavior past him. He knows that he would never do heroin. Apparently Thirteen doesn't._

_"You're an idiot!" She repeats incredulously. He gives her a withering look and motions at the door._

_"You drove all the way over here to break in and call me an idiot?" He asks, trying to either get Thirteen out of his apartment, or at least guide the conversation in a different direction._

_"No, I drove all the way over here to tell you we're implanting an automated cardio-defibrillator, which won't actually do anything to help the patient except to maybe give us enough time to come up with a guess as to what's actually wrong with her." Thirteen explains in a monotone. House blinks._

_"Oh. That makes more sense." He replies dumbly. So she wasn't here to check up on him, or confront him. He doesn't know whether to be relieved about that or not._

_"And I broke in here because Cuddy and Wilson, both separately, asked me to." She adds as an afterthought, much to his consternation. He does find it interesting, however, that of all the members of his team, both his ex and his best friend chose Thirteen to see what was wrong with him._

_"Even more logical." He responds._

_Thirteen pokes the white powder bag on the table. "And that's not heroin." She points out. He swiftly hides his own surprise and waits for her to continue. "Which means you knew I was coming over here, and Cuddy and Wilson are right, and you're just playing a game. Throwing out a bone and watching us fight over it." Thirteen glares at him before turning away with a small shake of her head and making a move towards the door. So. She doesn't think he's capable of heroin. She thinks he's just screwing with them all._

_Normally, he would let her stride out of his apartment with that assumption, but something makes him stop her before she reaches the door._

_"There is another theory." He says, hobbling forward to grab the case studies that sit alongside his fan and scotch on the dresser in his living room. Thirteen turns around, looking at him expectantly. "Compound CS-804." He tells her, offering them to her. She takes them and pages through. "It's an experimental drug that's supposed to re-grow muscle." He sinks into an armchair as Thirteen reads the file._

_"This experiment was done on rats." She observes in an exasperated voice._

_"It's groundbreaking. A huge success." He responds, as if the whole rat thing wasn't a big deal. To him, it isn't. It's still a chance he could become whole again._

_"IN RATS." Thirteen emphasizes._

_"They've got four legs. Think of how fast it would work on one." He jokes weakly. Thirteen just stares at him, and he could swear that she actually looks worried about him. He wonders where along the lines they started giving a crap about each other. It unsettles him._

_"You're an idiot." She whispers. She hands him back the case studies. Thirteen leaves without another word. With the click of the front door, he is alone._

* * *

**Author's Note: I was bored, and like other ffn authors, I made a Facebook page. The link is on my profile, if you went on over and liked it, I'd be as happy as House in a bathtub full of vicodin. :)**


	32. Fix Me

**Chapter 32: Fix Me**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD!**

* * *

Cuddy and Cameron arrived outside of House's ICU room within five minutes. Cameron opened the door for Cuddy, since she was carrying both her and Wilson's coffee, then tailed her inside. Cameron froze when she saw a young, unfamiliar woman snoozing in the chair on the left side of House's bed, both confused by her presence and worried about waking her up.

"Um, who-" Cameron asked.

"Kimberly Hennessy." Cuddy said immediately. "Don't worry, Wilson and I have found out she's a heavy sleeper. She's House's psychologist and Wilson's..." Cuddy glanced at the oncologist, who was in the middle of an uneasy slumber. "err, friend."

A half smirk formed on Cameron's face. _Did Wilson finally get himself a girlfriend? _She wondered as Cuddy sank down onto the loveseat. She moved forward to hover at the foot of House's bed, staring at the diagnostician. Had it really been two entire years since she had seen the man she had come to look at as her mentor?

He certainly looked different than she remembered. His hair was significantly grayer, though there were still a few hints of brown. His beard was neatly trimmed, and in general, his whole appearance made him seem less shabby. The most notable change was the scar that marred the side of his face, leading from his forehead to his jaw, tracing over his closed eyelid.

She realized her eyes were stinging, and she looked away from her former boss. _God, so much has changed. Why didn't I know? Why didn't Wilson call me? What about Chase and Foreman? _

She was unable to keep her eyes from locking on once more to House. _I shouldn't have left. _An irrational voice in the back of her head spoke. _Look what happened when you left._

She shook her head, taking a seat next to Cuddy on the loveseat and taking a long draught of her coffee. She was being neurotic and over-thinking things, a feeling she was no longer used to, though it comprised most of her time at PPTH. Her life had changed so much since she left. Things were almost... simple. Easy.

It was boring, but for a woman pushing forty, it was time to stop playing games with House and the team and move on with her life. Move on from her disastrous marriage with Chase. Just move on period.

_Maybe I shouldn't have come back. _The thought popped into her mind. Did she really want to get involved in this? _You're leaving this afternoon, you'll be back home with Oliver by tonight. _

Her life had taken on a sense of normalcy since her departure from Princeton and her previous life. After coming back and getting the divorce papers signed, she started dating Oliver about three months later. They had moved in together this past summer. If she didn't know any better, she'd say there were wedding bells in the future. He was nothing like Chase. Nothing like House. Nothing like David, her first husband. She loved him in a more sincere way than she had ever loved Chase, and she felt terrible for even acknowledging that.

She had found a peaceful, functional life, and a loving sweet man to spend her it with. She was, as Chase put it, disgustingly happy, but not with him. She was surprised someone who had ever entered Greg House's sphere of influence had come out relatively unscathed.

Despite her dramatic (albeit exciting) years at PPTH, she had received the happy ending she had wanted so badly.

**xxxxxx**

_"You're drunk." The bartender comments from the other side of the pub. House turns to throw a dirty look at the man._

_"Well, whose fault is that?" He asks, his speech mildly slurred from the amount of scotch he's downed in the past few hours. "Give me another scotch." He's drunk, but not drunk enough. The crushing realization that his last hope, the rat drugs, weren't going to work... well, he needs something to both numb his leg and his emotions. He's been feeling like that a lot lately._

_"I can't serve you." The bearded bartender protests. House takes a moment to think of a clever response._

_"Is it because I'm black?" He snarks. "'Cause I'm not, so..."_

_"Come on, buddy." The bartender says as he cleans a tankard._

_"What? You can't get me drunk then give me crap for being drunk!" House argues. "That's like dumping someone, and giving them crap for being upset. It's just not decent." His inebriated mind drifts off to thoughts of Cuddy, and now he's even more determined to swindle the bartender into another drink._

_The bartender averts his eyes and proceeds to ignore him. He sighs and carefully stands up from his bar stool, limping towards the idiotic barkeep._

_"Let me explain why people come here." He begins. "They come here to DRINK." He leans on the bar, staring down the bartender. "Which causes us to ask, why do people drink? Hmm?" He directs the question to the nearby bar patrons as well. "Is it sustenance?" He asks rhetorically, grabbing the beer from the man next to him. "No. Is it taste?" He takes a sip. "Nope."_

_"Don't be a jerk." The man from whom he took the beer warns. He holds out his hand for the beer._

_"Is it the company of stout hearted men?" He rotates the beer in his hand. "I don't think so... is it killing pain?" He meets the bartender's exasperated gaze. He mockingly reads the label on the bottle. "YES. 7.5% life duller! That's the business your in. You're in the screw-the-world business. You're in the reality-sucks-and-fantasy-temporarily-appears-to-not-suck business." He thinks for being trashed, he's putting up an excellent argument._

_"Just get the moron a drink so he'll shut the hell up." The patron next to him snaps. The bartender finally relents and goes to go get him his drink, but strangely, he isn't satisfied._

_"No." House halts the man._

_"I'm giving you your drink." The bartender responds with an air of confusion._

_"Have you no pride?" He questions. "Either serving me is a good idea or it's a bad idea. Shutting me up is a crappy reason for compromising what you believe!" He can feel his voice getting louder, even though he doesn't mean for it to do so._

_"And not even an effective one apparently." A black haired man farther down the bar mutters. House stares at the man for a moment before leaning into whisper to the bartender._

_"Am I going to have to hit him?" He asks._

_"Not a good idea."_

_"But what if it's the right thing to do?" His eyes drift off to the side, contemplating his own question. "Compromise is never the answer." He withdraws from the bar, resigning himself to do what is necessary. He cannot compromise. "Stand up." House tells the other man, towering over him. He raises his fists, which aren't steady due to his intoxication. "I will allow you the first punch." He slurs._

_"Sit down. I'm not going to hit you." The other man says, seeming uninterested in his challenge._

_"Just as well, 'cause I was lying." He dives forward, fist flying, the other man easily dodges it, but then he realizes something._

_His leg doesn't hurt. At all. Not even a hint of throbbing._

**_My leg doesn't hurt!_**

_He would've contemplated this fact further, but the fist smashing into the side of his face kind of distracted him._

**xxxxxx**

The thing that finally dragged Wilson from his fitful sleep was the enticing smell of coffee wafting into his dreary mind. He cracked open one eye, early morning light assaulting his eyes, which had become adjusted to the darkness. He blinked rapidly, trying to remember why he was sleeping in a chair and not in his bed.

The events of the night before came rushing back to him, and he actually winced. A quick glance to his right revealed the still unconscious House next to him.

"Morning." A voice said on the other side. Wilson jumped a little before directing his attention to his other side. Cuddy had returned to her seat on the couch, and she offered him the cup of coffee he had requested earlier. _I must have fallen asleep while she was gone._

However, the person next to Cuddy caught his attention before he could ask how long he'd been out. Allison Cameron sat next to Cuddy on the couch, giving him an awkward smile that seemed to say, "Surprise!"

"C-Cameron?" Wilson sputtered, sitting up and adjusting his askew tie. "What are you doing here?"

"I ran into Cuddy. Literally." She explained as he grabbed his cup of coffee and downed half the cup in one swallow. He'd barely had anything to drink all night, and his throat was parched. "She explained it all to me. The accident, the memory loss - everything." Wilson registered what he said, and then he slapped himself hard on the forehead.

"Crap! I cannot believe I never thought to call you and tell you what happened." He was astounded at his own stupidity. Cameron had worked for House for six years, practically idolized the guy for the first few, and yet the immunologist hadn't even crossed his mind since the accident. He supposed some part of him must have assumed that they wouldn't be seeing Cameron again... ever. That she had completely moved on.

"It's alright, apparently no one else thought to call her either, including me." Cuddy said with a sigh.

"Not that it's not great to see you but... why are you here?" He asked, massaging the sleep out of his eyes and trying to catch up with what the hell was going on._ And so the plot thickens._

"I was here for the charity ball. My flight got delayed, so I got here two hours late. By the time I showed up, you guys were all dealing with this." She motioned at House with a pained look in her eyes. After all these years, it seemed that Cameron still cared for her former boss.

"Ah. Wow. So..." He trailed off. "Uh, how are you?" He asked. This felt like a completely inappropriate moment for such inane small talk, but the typical social norms had been engraved into his behavior, so he couldn't help but follow them. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed House's friendship so much. Even now, the typical expectations of society were completely disregarded when they were together.

"I..." She trailed off, her focus still fixed on House. "I'm good. I like living in Chicago. I'm closer to my family, I'm moving up the career ladder." She shrugged with a forced smile. "I'm happy." _Well, you certainly don't look happy right now. _

"I'm glad. It's been awhile. I really am sorry, I should have called you." He apologized again, but Cameron waved him off.

"Wilson, it's fine. I left. I'm not part of this anymore, technically there was no reason for me to know. I'm just glad I _do_ know now, even if I'm only here for a few more hours." She assured him in a tired voice.

"A few hours?" Wilson echoed.

"I wasn't planning on staying long. Come to the charity ball, stay over night, maybe grab some coffee with Foreman this morning, go see a few of my friends here, then be back on my plane by four." She told him.

"Are you still planning on...?" Wilson left the question open ended, knowing that she was smart enough to know what he was asking. He watched Cuddy bite the inside of her lip as she considered Cameron. Her arrival was no doubt a shock for the administrator as well.

"...yes. I'm going to have to go back. I just got promoted to Dean a little bit ago, I can't take longer leave this early..." She confessed, looking regretful. He couldn't help but feel that the younger doctor was leaving something out. _Does she have someone waiting for her at home? _He wondered.

"Well, it's good to have you here. Hopefully House will wake up before you leave, and we can introduce you." Cuddy said, trying to sound cheerful and failing. Wilson laced his fingers together around his cup of coffee and stared at his unconscious friend.

_Come on, House... I need you to wake up._

**xxxxxx**

_He injects the contrast into the crook of his elbow of the arm that he didn't inject the Compound CS-804 into. He feels sick to his stomach, not to mention another emotion he feels very rarely - fear. In an attempt to make his life better, to heal himself by any means, had he actually signed his own death certificate?_

_He lays down on the cold MRI table, sliding himself in. He has had MRIs before, but they still unsettle him. Being injured, being a patient, it's always bothered him. Maybe because he believes, somewhere in the back of his mind, that because he himself is a healer, that he should be invincible._

_When he views the results of the MRI after the long minutes in the cool tomb, he realizes how wrong he is._

**xxxxxx**

Chase entwined his hand with Thirteen's as they strolled through the hospital doors. It was seven thirty, early for the couple on the weekend, but neither of them got much sleep with the knowledge of the state House was in.

Thirteen yawned next to him, and he squeezed her hand.

"I vote we have a nice long nap once this is all over." Chase suggested as they stepped into the elevator. Thirteen snorted.

"Is it ever 'all over'?" She asked. "It's always been one thing after another here."

"Is that necessarily a bad thing?" Chase raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend. She shrugged.

"Sometimes. Like now. Do you think he's awake now?" She asked, changing the subject. Chase ran a hand through his hair with his free hand.

"I don't know. I think Wilson or Cuddy would've called us if he was." Chase said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. This was _House_. The man had survived every injury under the sun, a concussion wasn't anything to get concerned about in the scheme of things... or was it?

With any other person, he wouldn't be overly panicked, but with all the previous injuries to House's brain, even the crystal clear CT results weren't particularly comforting. He sighed as the elevator doors opened to reveal the ICU. He walked hand in hand with Thirteen, making a beeline for House's private room, the same one he stayed in during his recovery over the summer.

Chase and Thirteen knocked on the door in unison, and with a few moments, Cuddy was at the door. Her eyes were nearly the size of dinner plates when she set eyes on Chase.

"Oh - hello. I didn't expect you two to be here so early." She said, her whole face screaming panic. He immediately sensed urgency, and he took a step into the room, Thirteen linked to him and trailing behind, not responding to Cuddy's greeting.

However, House appeared to be fine. Hennessy napped in a chair next to his bed, and Wilson sat in the other one, nursing a cup of coffee. It was the person on the couch that caught his attention.

Cameron.

_What the hell!? _It took all of his self control to not verbalize his thoughts. So, there was no emergency - well, there was, just not a physical emergency. An emotional one. _Shit._

He felt Thirteen freeze next to him, and Cameron's eyes immediately went to their linked hands. Chase pursed his lips.

"Hi Allison." He greeted her with a friendly nod, trying his best to keep his composure. Cuddy hovered by the doorway, seeing the possible disaster this presented.

"I'll go get you two some chairs." She said before ducking out of the room.

"Hi Robert." She responded carefully. Her mouth twitched in what he expected was her attempt at a cordial smile. "It's nice to see you."

"Nice to see you too." He said in a calm voice, but he was anything but calm on the inside. _No, this can't happen now, not when I was finally recovering, finally getting back to normal._

Thirteen was right, life at the hospital was always one thing after another.

**xxxxxx**

_He knew from the start there was only one option. With his leg and life in jeopardy, (not to mention a few criminal charges that might come his way if it was discovered that he stole the rat drugs) there was only one person he could trust to remove the tumors in his leg._

_Himself._

_He scrubs his bathroom meticulously, making the seven by seven room as sterile as it can get. It is not an operating room, and the chances of infection are high, but it is a risk he has to take._

_By the time he is done, the bathroom and corresponding tub are pristine, the cleanest they've been since Stacy lived with him. He looks at himself in the mirror, fear reflected back in his eyes. He knows he might die, and he's surprised to find that he truly does NOT want his life to end. He is miserable, misanthropic, damaged and tortured - left behind by almost everyone he's ever loved._

_But he wants to live._

_There is still an unpleasant purple bruise under his eye from his debacle in the bar. There are dark circles under his eyes that make him look years older than he is. He takes a handful of vicodin, preparing himself for the amount of pain he's about to go through. He knows it will be the worst he's ever felt in his life._

_He scrubs his arms and hands thoroughly, swallowing back his trepidation. This has to be done. There is no other option. He tapes his CT scan to the wall to guide him during his surgery._

_He is clad only in his boxers, so his destroyed muscle is visible. He ties a tourniquet as high on his leg as he can manage, wincing just from jostling it that much. The pain has returned ten fold since the cramp the night before._

_He lowers himself into the bathtub._


	33. The Memory Remains

**Chapter 33: The Memory Remains**

**Disclaimer: Thirty plus chapters, but they're still not mine, just Collins and Hennessy. **

* * *

_He can't do it. He can't do it, and he hates himself for it. The scalpel falls from his hand, and his pain blows his mind. It feels like a wild animal is feasting on his leg, ripping, tearing, destroying._

_He can't do it. __**Damn it.**_

_Sweat pours down his forehead, his eyes are flooded with tears of agony, and it takes all his willpower to be able to even reach out of the tub and grab his phone. Every movement is unbelievably excruciating. He doesn't even know how he is coherent, how he manages to punch in Wilson's speed dial (he's number one) and listen to the dial tone._

_"Come on, come on, come on!" He screams, pleading with the God he doesn't believe in to make Wilson pick up his fucking phone. He waits, but he is rewarded with only the sound of Wilson's voicemail._

_"This is Dr. James Wilson. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and contact information, I'll get back to you as soon as I can." He struggles to restrain himself from throwing his phone at the wall. He punches the third number on speed dial, skipping over the second, which was Cuddy's. Normally, his next resort would be Thirteen, but he figures that Taub is a surgeon, and not to mention that he doesn't really feel like hearing Thirteen call him a moron for fifteen minutes._

_Once again, he is met with a voicemail._

_"Shit!" He yells. Much longer, and he will pass out. The injections, the vicodin - nothing could have prepared him for this._

_Speed dial four. Thirteen. Once again, no answers. The one time he needs someone, absolutely NEEDS someone, no one is available._

_God, he can't die here. Not after all of this. Not in a fucking bathtub, of all places. He takes his bloody hand and hits the next speed dial. Chase._

_No answer yet again. Tears stream down his face, mixing with the smeared blood on the side of his cheek and the thick sheen of sweat on his entire body. The only one of his team left is Foreman. He hits the last number on his speed dial. For the fifth time, he is met only with a recorded message. Never has he wanted to hear a human voice so badly._

_There is only one person left. Cuddy. But he can't call her. Not after everything that's transpired between them. You don't just call your ex girlfriend in the middle of the night, saying you need her to come over and perform surgery on you in your bathroom. Plus, having to admit to her about his idiotic experiences with the Compound CS-804..._

_But right now, it's looking like it's either die, or call Cuddy. Not to mention, his mind is so blurred by the pain at the moment that he can't bare to put any more thought into the decision. He dials her number._

**xxxxxx**

Hennessy first became aware of the voices in the room, several of them that were not Wilson and Cuddy's. She took a moment to identify them. Chase's distinct Australian accent popped out first, Thirteen's feminine voice next. She heard another female voice, but she couldn't identify it. A Southern twang that belonged to Collins, and then Foreman's smooth voice. She peeled open her eyes, her back and neck were screaming from sleeping in the chair last night. _Idiot. Should have just slept on the floor or something._

She expected to be cold, but felt a soft blanket on her. She guessed that Wilson must have thrown a spare blanket over her during the night. She turned her head, hearing her neck creak, and examined the crowd that had gathered in the small ICU room.

The first person she looked at was House, of course. She was disappointed to see the older doctor was still knocked out, his body as still as a cadaver. She trusted Collins' assessment that House would likely wake up today, but she had been hoping against hope that by the time she opened her eyes, he would be awake.

Over the past few months, she had grown to care about the genius diagnostician and his best friend. She really didn't want to see either of them go through anymore hardship.

Wilson was in his typical bed side chair, his hair adorably ruffled from sleep, and his mouth set in a frown. Cuddy sat on the couch next to a woman Hennessy didn't recognize. Thirteen and Chase sat in folding chairs next to the wall, both looking intensely uncomfortable. Foreman leaned on the wall, his arms folded, and Collins hovered next to him. Taub stood near the door, and she guessed he hadn't been there for long. With a glance at the clock, Hennessy saw it was about ten o'clock.

She blinked a few more times. Everyone was intent on the conversation they were having, and no one seemed to notice that she was awake. She decided just to sit and listen for the time being.

"-about what's best for him." She heard Thirteen say as she tuned into the conversation.

"Listen, the old House and new House may be different, but I still don't see him talking to a professional." Cuddy said, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand.

"I think that if you're right about the nature of his concussion, therapy would be an advisable choice. Obviously the decision will be House's, once he's awake." Collins eyes darted to House's motionless form as she said this.

"But Wilson can influence his decision." Foreman reasoned. "And you too, Cuddy." Cuddy opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out, and Foreman raised a knowing eyebrow at her.

"Your his best friend, Wilson. He listens to you." Taub added to Foreman's statement.

"House wouldn't even talk to me about his second memory with him, and I'm his best friend. He's not going to speak to a stranger." Wilson said with a sigh.

"His memories appear to be causing him emotional, mental, and now physical stress, it may be better for his well-being in the long run to try and work through his past traumas with an objective professional." Collins said carefully.

"Is this really the best time to put this on him?" The unknown woman next to Cuddy pointed out. "It sounds like he's been through hell."

"There's really no point in us even talking about this." Chase said, his voice seeming edgier than usual as he barely glanced at the new woman. "Like Collins said, it's his decision. Not to mention he hasn't even woken up yet. We don't even know what the cause of this was for sure, yet. We're jumping the gun."

"We're having a discussion." The other woman said, seeming irritated.

"Why are you even involved in this, Allison?" Chase asked abruptly. "You're leaving later today, you haven't been here for this disaster."

"I did work with him for _six years_, Robert, I'm worried about him. I really don't think talking to a shrink is the answer in this situation. I think talking to his friends would be a _lot _more helpful." The woman who was apparently named Allison said. _Allison Cameron? James has mentioned her before, she's Chase's... oh, now the tension makes sense._

"When did the idea of therapy come up?" Hennessy finally piped up, causing everyone in the room to jump. Wilson blinked and looked at her in surprise.

"Oh, Kim, you're awake!" She was still getting used to being on a first name basis with the oncologist, and she smiled slightly at him.

"Morning everyone." She said. "Someone feel like catching me up?"

**xxxxxx**

_When he hears the front door open, he gasps in relief. She came... thank God, she came. His arms are crossed in front of him, and he's shaking and shivering violently. He has fought encroaching unconsciousness since he hung up with Cuddy, the mind blowing pain threatening to overwhelm him._

_He held on for her, though. He knows he can trust her, even now, after everything. He hears her footsteps, and he can see her halted in the threshold of his bathroom, her eyes raking over the scene. He told her on the phone what had happened in the briefest manner. The experimental drugs, the tumors, and his attempts to excise them. Judging by the horrified look in her eyes, she hadn't expected the scene to be this macabre._

_"Sweetie, go wait for Mommy by the couch, okay? Go on." She guides her young daughter away from the door, and House wishes desperately that by dragging Cuddy into this, that he wouldn't have also had to involve Rachel. Cuddy turns back to him, her stormy blue-gray eyes asking a silent question._

_"I tried calling everyone else." He explains, his voice a broken, hoarse ghost of it's usual commanding baritone. "You were the last one on the list." He doesn't know why he says this, but in his pain fogged mind, he's barely sure of what he's saying. It's a second by second battle to stay coherent enough to speak to Cuddy, to tell her what must be done._

_"Any reason why 911 wasn't on the list?" She asks._

_"It's not an emergency." He responds before he realizes that his words must sound like a complete contradiction to how he must appear to her._

_"Right." Cuddy says, obviously not convinced. She strides carefully into the bathroom, stepping over the blood soaked towels on the floor. She leans over to examine his open, bloody leg, and the spreading pool of blood in the bathtub. Her eyes grow wider, and her mouth falls open as she kneels on the ground next to him. "Are you suicidal!?"_

_"I'm not attempting bypass surgery, the tumors are small and they're close to the surface. I thought it'd b-be like removing a w-wart." He can't keep the tremor out of his voice anymore._

_"You couldn't wait till morning, bring your CT scans to an actual surgeon?" She exclaims, eyes raking over his scans taped to the wall to guide him during his failed surgery._

_"Surgeons are idiots, they just h-hack away at the m-muscle until they get worn out." After all of this, he is still convinced he did the right thing. He trusts his own competency far more than the surgeons at PPTH, even Chase._

_"Or you're just ashamed you've been injecting a drug that hasn't even gone through safety trials! It's never even been in the human body!" She shakes her head, and he feels a pang of sadness when he realizes he has disappointed her once again. It quickly dissipates when he realizes that at the moment, he's got quite a few bigger problems._

_"I got one of the t-tumors. The second one is close. You c-can use the CT to help you find the third." He says, and her eyes bulge out, and she looks at him as though he's completely insane._

_Okay, considering the situation at hand, he can kind of understand it._

_"I'm taking you to the hospital." She says resolutely, standing up._

_"Just excise the tumor!" He chokes. He can't go to the hospital, that was the whole point of doing the surgery himself._

_"Absolutely not!" Cuddy says adamantly. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "I am not going to just let you die in your bathtub."_

_"You're going to have a hell of t-time getting me out of here." He leans his head back against the wall, trying to minimize the violent tremors ripping through his body._

_"I don't care." She responds. "I'm getting you out of here whether you like it or not."_

**xxxxxx**

By eleven, Chase noticed that the gathering in House's room had thinned out somewhat. Foreman had departed, seeing little point in staying when he and House barely knew each other. However, he did lean over and tell his girlfriend to call him if anything changed. Taub had gone to hunt out a new case for them, since the department couldn't just disband in House's absence.

Collins had other, more critical patients, but would still be checking in on House periodically throughout the day.

Wilson, Cuddy, and Hennessy made their way to the cafeteria around that time to get some breakfast, and just as Cuddy was about to close the door behind her, Thirteen had risen from her chair next to him and asked if she could accompany them. A surprised Cuddy agreed, of course, and without a backward glance she accompanied them out of the room, leaving Chase and Cameron alone.

He didn't know whether Thirteen just wanted to get away from the awkward situation, or whether she wanted to give him and Cameron time to speak to each other without her presence. Either way, he still wished he had her beside him.

"So." Cameron said, beginning the uncomfortable conversation that they both knew had to start somewhere. When she had left shortly after House's release from Mayfield, he had resented her. He would even go so far as to say he had hated her. When she had returned early that spring, demanding that he sign the divorce papers (and they had their last tryst) he was left with a feeling of relative closure. However, it had taken him a long time to get over her.

In his opinion, he hadn't completely moved on from his heart break and failed relationship with Cameron until he had finally realized how deep his feelings for Thirteen ran, the night of the incident with her ex-cell mate Darrien. Ironically, the same night she had punched him about eight times, (several of them in the face) and he had pushed her to the ground to get her out of the way.

Seeing Cameron again didn't make him doubt his feelings for Thirteen, but he worried that would be the effect it had on his girlfriend. He also hoped it wouldn't dash their plans to move in together.

"So." He echoed.

"You and Thirteen?" Cameron asked, playing with a loose thread on the loveseat.

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"Little over three months." He responded in a monotone. He wanted to ask whether she was involved in a relationship or not, but for some reason, the words couldn't leave his throat.

"I'm happy for you, you know." Cameron said softly. "I'm glad you've moved on." He didn't reply, staring down at his hands. Cameron being here was bringing up things he had been trying consistently to forget.

Dibala's pale, dead face, stained heavily with blood, floated to the forefront of his mind, and he had to suppress an urge to vomit.

"Does she know?" Cameron asked quietly, as if she had been able to read his dark thoughts. Chase blinked slowly, cupping his hands together and resting his forehead on them.

"I told her about a month before we got together." He told her in a subdued voice. "She didn't judge me for it." He had to say that, had to let her know that he had found someone who could accept his sin, his murder of another human being. Cameron's eyes looked distant, and she couldn't maintain eye contact with him.

"Are you... seeing, anyone?" He asked, finally getting up the nerve to inquire about her relationship status.

"Yes. His name's Oliver. He's an endocrinologist at Chicago General." She told him, a small smile on her lips. "We've been together about a year."

_A year. _Chase mused to himself. _She moved on much faster than I did. I suppose that shouldn't surprise me._

"Do you love him?" He asked. He knew he shouldn't but he had to know. _I have to close this chapter. Permanently. _She paused for only a moment before answering.

"Yes... do you love her?"

"Yes." He said without hesitation. They both stared at each other for a long moment before they both smiled at the exact same time.

"I guess it just took our collective screw up to get us both on the right track." Cameron theorized, and Chase nodded.

"Yeah, I guess it did. I'm happy for you too. The job, the boyfriend, the everything." He was being completely honest. Seeing Cameron made him feel... lighter, somehow. Like it instilled even more faith in his relationship with Thirteen. Cameron nodded in response.

"So..." She repeated before looking at him sheepishly. "friends?"

"Friends."

**xxxxxx**

_Finally moved into a decent bed (and on some semi decent painkillers) House was able to focus on something other than the excruciating pain in his open, tumor ridden leg. His eyes were glued to Cuddy, who met his gaze with her worried eyes. She leaned her head back against the wall of hospital room, and it seemed like the night had added several years onto her._

_He hears footsteps, and a surgeon appears at the foot of his bed._

_"They're ready for you." She tells him, and he barely registers it. His head lolls to the side, and his eyes find Cuddy's once more. She finally breaks the contact as she rolls her shoulders forward and stands up. She makes a move towards the door, but suddenly fear flares inside of him._

_"Wait!" He calls out, his voice cracked and desperate. She turns just as her hand touches the steel handle of the door. She looks at him expectantly. "I want you in there." She shrugs._

_"I'm not a surgeon. There's nothing I can do." He turns his head away, pointing weakly in the direction of the OR._

_"Well, you can make sure that idiot butcher doesn't cut more than he needs to." The tremors have stopped, but he still feels weak, in pain, and light headed. Her hand falls from the handle, and she gives him an exasperated look._

_"You already signed a release." She says as she walks to the side of the bed. "He's going to do what he needs to do."_

_"Yeah, and if that involves chopping off my leg..." He drags in a few ragged breaths before continuing. He cannot lose his leg. He is already too broken, he doesn't want another piece to fall out of the already shattered frame of who he is. "I want to be sure that's damn well necessary." He looks at her, pleading silently for her to help him just one more time._

_"House..."_

_"I don't trust him." He admits, trying to shove down his fear of what he might face in the OR. "I trust YOU." She stares at him for a long moment before her posture sags and she nods at the group of surgeons waiting by the other door._

_They gather around his bed, moving it towards the now open doors. He checks behind him just to make sure Cuddy is following._

_She is._

* * *

**Author's Note: I mentioned that a month before Chase and Thirteen got together, he told her about Dibala. I assumed that Chase told her after the events of "After Hours", even though it wasn't shown in cannon. My one shot "Confessions" kind of fits in with this storyline and covers Thirteen and Chase's conversation.**


	34. Full Circle

**Chapter 34: Full Circle**

**Author's Note: Wow. Here we are, guys. The last chapter. Thank you all for staying with me. Remember everyone, this story is AU starting halfway through "Moving On".**

**Disclaimer: I do not own House MD.**

* * *

_As he comes out of his medically induced sleep, his hand immediately crawls his way down his leg, though at first he doesn't know why he's doing so. With a few blinks, he remembers the horrific past night. __**Please let it still be there**__, he pleads to no one in particular. __**Please don't take anything else away from me**__._

_His hand trails over his knee, and with a squeeze, he realizes with a wave of blissful relief that his leg has not been amputated._

_"You're lucky." A voice says from beside him. When he turns his head to see a very worn down Wilson next to him, he can't help but sigh in mild disappointment. Some part of him had hoped that perhaps he would wake up to Cuddy sleeping at his bedside, her hand in his, like after the DBS._

_Apparently this time, he is not so lucky._

_"What are you doing here?" He sighs. He still sounds hoarse and weak._

_"You hoping for someone else?" Wilson asks knowingly._

_"Hot nurse, candy striper, someone who doesn't speak English, someone who doesn't speak judgmental." He deflects. He mentally prepares himself for one of Wilson's patented, House-you're-screwing-up-your-life-because-you-like-being-miserable speeches._

_Wilson surprises him by pushing himself out of the chair and grabbing a piece of paper tucked into a pouch at the foot of his bed._

_"You've got mail." Wilson shares, unfolding the paper. "'I hope your legs feels better, and I hope we can be friends again soon, you bloody scallywag.'" Wilson reads. Rachel. Rachel wrote him a letter? Though he doesn't let it show, a hint of warmth flares in his chest. He opens his mouth to say something, but then chooses to close it instead._

_"I have to pee." He says abruptly, not ready to face any genuine emotion so early._

_"That's a good sign." Wilson says, placing the paper on a small table across from House's bed. Wilson offers him a bed pan, but House waves him off._

_"I'm a big boy." He says as he pushes back the sheets and blanket. He swings his legs over the side._

_"Of course you are." Wilson sighs, coming around to his side of the bed. He looks down at his heavily bandages legs and winces involuntarily. Wilson moves to help him out of bed, but he quickly slaps his hands away, and Wilson reluctantly withdraws._

_He attempts to stand on his own, his leg screaming in protest, but it is still too weak to support his weight. As soon as he releases the rail of the hospital bed, his leg gives out, and it's all he can do to stop himself from crashing to the ground._

_He gasps in pain, and Wilson simply stands, a silent observer to his struggle. Well, temporarily silent._

_"You're an ass." _**_And here comes the judging._ **

_"What? For trying to walk on a freshly mangled leg? Or for performing surgery on myself? For thinking I can solve my emotional problems with rat medicine? If you're going to nag, the least you can do is be specific." He tries once more to stand, but this time Wilson helps him regardless of his wishes._

_"Come on." Wilson says, and he is suddenly glad that in spite of his mistakes, in spite of the hell he's been through, Wilson is still here. He is grateful for that much, at least. Wilson throws House's arm over his shoulder and puts a hand on his chest to help him stand and walk._

_"Listen to me." He says, his voice urgent. "You can't keep going like this. Something has to change." He sounds more emotional than he is used to hearing from his friend. Wilson always cares, but it's rare that he sounds so... he doesn't know. Scared? Hurt? He's not quite sure._

_"Can I pee first?" He asks sarcastically before making eye contact with his best friend, their faces only inches away from each other. Wilson's face expresses the seriousness of the situation. It's not time for cute deflections, jokes, sarcasm. It's time to deal with things, to face up to what's happened. "I know." He says quietly._

_That appears to be enough for Wilson, for now. But he knows that his words have not alleviated the deep worry that is written all over his friend's face._

_**I can't keep going like this.**_

**xxxxxx**

"Any particular reason you just left your boyfriend alone in there with his ex-wife?" Wilson asked Thirteen as they exited the elevator on the first floor. Hennessy and Cuddy both glanced curiously at her, apparently wondering the same thing.

"They have some unresolved issues. They can't resolve said issues with me in there being the elephant in the room." Thirteen reasoned with an unconcerned shrug.

"How long have Chase and Cameron been divorced for?" Hennessy asked, clearly not knowing the story behind the two doctor's divorce.

"It's been about two years, hasn't it?" Cuddy asked, looking to Wilson for confirmation. He nodded.

"Roughly." He responded as he opened the door to the cafeteria, allowing the others to walk in before him. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"It's kind of hard to believe they were ever together in the first place." Thirteen commented. "I like Cameron, I always have. But I _know_ Chase, and I don't have a clue how they stayed together as long as they did."

"In some relationships, compatibility..." Cuddy shrugged as she took her place in the cafeteria line "It's not necessarry." Wilson pursed his lips, obviously knowing who Cuddy was referring to.

When they had each received their respective orders, (scrambled eggs and toast for Hennessy, a bagel for himself, an English muffin for Cuddy, and waffles for Thirteen) they retreated to the booth that Wilson and Cuddy typically sat at during their weekly lunches.

They ate in relative silence, each of them subdued by the distinct absence of House.

"Kim, you've got a double specialty, right? Neurology and psychology?" It had completely slipped his mind that the young woman was a neurologist as well. She nodded, covering her full mouth with a hand.

"Yes, why?"

"Do you agree with Collins? Do you think House will wake up today?" A deep set feeling of unease had settled inside of him. What if this was more serious than any of them had guessed? House still wasn't awake...

"Well..." She began hesitantly. "If I were in her position, I would've made the same prediction. But with House..." She sighed, setting down her fork. "If I've learned one thing about that man, it's to expect the unexpected."

**xxxxxx**

_"You stood me up." Cuddy accuses as soon as she pushes back the curtain to reveal his bed in the ICU. He looks at her wearily over the top of his glasses._

_"Sorry. I should have scheduled my patient's internal bleeding for Thursday."_

_"You're still playing the same petty passive-aggressive games." She states, anger flashing like lightning in her stormy eyes._

_"Got you to go all the way to the second floor of the building you work in." He takes off his glasses and sets them on the bedside table. "Boy, did I screw you."_

_"You said you were going to change!" She bursts out. It's only been two days. Does she expect him to magically turn into a mature, responsible person over night? Has she even met him?_

_"Check the sign. It says you've got to treat me with intensive care." He snarks._

_"I'm expressing my anger, you should try it! Right now. Let's finally have our fight." She begs, simultaneously angry and pleading at the same time. He doesn't understand how women can feel so many things at once._

_"All we do is fight." He responds tiredly._

_"No, all you've done is pull pranks... or have temper tantrums with Wilson, never me... marry mail order prostitutes, make me go to your wedding-"_

_"Dominica is a licensed esthetician." House interrupts at the express intent of annoying her._

_"YOU CUT OPEN YOUR OWN LEG!" She yells._

_"So all this was about you?" He asks rudely._

_"You don't think it's even related? House, we've never even had a conversation about our breakup. You are obviously still angry at me, and it's hurting both of us."_

_"Wow. I didn't realize the incredible healing power of lunch."_

_He is straining to hold back his fury. Why does she want them to fight? Why would she want this magical, healing, closure-giving fight? He can't do this, he can't have this conversation with her. There is a reason he's essentially avoided her like the plague since the breakup._

_Because if they finally have this fight, he's afraid of what he might say... of what he might do._

**xxxxxx**

Chase and Cameron were actually having a conversation - not strained, just two old friends reminiscing and catching up. Despite the rather unfortunate situation he found himself in, he actually was laughing and smiling a little.

Being around Cameron reminded him of when things were... simple. Okay, simpler. Nothing was ever simple at PPTH. His mind drifted back to the days when he, Foreman, and Cameron were young, inexperienced doctor, dutifully following House and trying to learn from the cantankerous diagnostician.

"Do you remember the fifteen year old heroin addicted super model who slept with her dad, then ended up being a man?" Cameron asked, chuckling.

"Hard to forget. I think that was the most ridiculous case we've ever had." Chase responded with a slight smile.

"Any interesting ones since I've left? Well, more interesting than usual?" She inquired. Chase took a moment to think about the question.

"Hmm... well, we treated a cat hoarder a few months ago. Actually adopted one of the cats we found at his house... one of the hundreds. God, you couldn't imagine the smell." He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the odor of Jason Lakeland's house.

"Wow, which one of you?" She asked.

"It was Thirteen's idea. We just kept her in the office. No one really cares, everyone's accustomed to just letting the diagnostics department do whatever we want." He paused for a moment. "We named her Amber." He added softly.

Cameron was about to respond when they heard a soft moan from the bed. Both of their heads immediately jerked in House's direction.

"Did he-"

"I think he did." They both got out of their chairs and made their way to the incapacitated doctor, leaning in close.

"...don't..."

"House?" Cameron asked. "Can you hear me?" Chase bent forward as far as he could, so his ear was almost directly next to the doctor's mouth.

"...don't want to be you again..."

**xxxxxx**

_He sees Wilson's feet under the curtain, and he uses his crutches to spread apart the shield and reveal his friend, standing there with his arms crossed and classic caring-too-much look on his face._

_"You're forging my names on prescriptions again!" Wilson starts of immediately, and House feels a moment of deja vu to nearly five years ago, when he had stolen Wilson's pad when the ketomine treatment had worn off._

_"No." He replies simply, leaning forward on his crutches. "What you just said implied that I stopped at some point."_

_"Twenty minutes ago I put a notice out to all local pharmacies to require vocal authorization before filling in my prescriptions." Wilson shares as he uncrosses his arms, disappointment evident in his voice._

_"Do you have any idea how much extra work you've just given yourself? You're not going to last a week." His defenses go up. And once more, he gets the delight of being under the judgmental scrutiny of Dr. James Wilson._

_"I've been dealing with this for years... but it's over... your liver, your hearing, never mind the fact that each scrip your write is a separate felony. You will serve time, so could I!" He emphasizes as House leans his crutches against his hospital bed._

_"You've chosen this moment to give me crap about my vicodin use?" He asks rudely, wishing Wilson would just leave him the hell alone. Being out of bed so soon after his surgery has taken a lot out of him. Right now, he just wants to get the hell out of the hospital, and sleep... and forget. Wilson picks up his vicodin bottle and reads the label._

_"You filled this three days ago, now it's almost half gone."_

_"So is my leg!" He snaps as he begins collecting his things and shoving them in his bag. He hesitates for only a second before tucking Rachel's letter into the pocket of his leather jacket, which he also stuffs into his bag._

_"It's a MONTH'S supply!" Wilson retorts. "The amount your taking has nothing to do with physical pain." How he expected Wilson not to figure out about his extra vicodin use or go without psycho analyzing him for it was beyond him._

_"Okay. So maybe I am trying to numb myself a little. Because I'm trying to change. I'm trying to stop being self destructive." He explains._

_"So, you can only handle not self destructing by being self destructive?"_

_"What do you want from me?" He asks, struggling to keep his voice down._

_"I don't know House, but I'm worried about you." Of course he is. He's always worried. "I don't know how many times I can watch you cut off pieces of yourself. Now it's the ICU, next time it'll be the morgue! You're miserable, and you're angry, and I want you to actually DEAL with that, and not try and just medicate the issue away." He lectures. He's been able to see since he woke up in the ICU how much this is tearing Wilson up on the inside, but right now, he's not concerned about that._

_"No. You know what I feel right now?" He asks rhetorically. "I don't feel miserable or angry. I don't feel good or bad. I feel nothing." **I feel empty. **He doesn't add this, however, because he doesn't want a speech on how he has to find meaning in his life or some such bullshit. He's learned to embrace this emptiness that has swallowed him since the break up, learned to hide himself in it. "Which feels great." He adds._

_Wilson finally notices that House is collecting his things. "What are you doing?"_

_"Moving on. In the direction of my house." He says shortly as he throws his blue backpack over his shoulder. "Where I've got some more pills." Okay, he says that out of spite. Worry Wilson a little more. But he's pissed off, which is exactly what his friend wants. Mission fucking accomplished. Wilson looks at him with sad eyes as he brushes past him and out of the ICU without another word._

**xxxxxx**

_He sighs a deep sigh as he throws one leg over his motorcycle and haphazardly straps on his helmet. It's time to head home after his brief stint in the hospital. His leg is screaming with pain in spite of the dozen or so vicodin he has taken since his surgery. The only thing that rivals the pain in his leg is the pain in his heart. He had slammed shut the door on his feelings when Cuddy ended their relationship, and has been trying to outrun the heartbreak that was bound to catch up with him eventually. Wilson wants him to talk, to let it all out, but how the hell was that going to help? He feels much better numb. When he is numb, when he doesn't think, that's when he's okay. That's when he is normal. The vicodin and booze are the only two things that can halt his constantly racing thoughts, emotions, and of course, his pain._

_As he starts up his motorcycle and rides smoothly out of PPTH parking lot, his thoughts flash to his pledge to change. How many times has he said he would change? Obviously since he finds himself making the empty promise yet again, he has failed miserably on his previous attempts. It has taken landing in a hospital bed for him to think that maybe it is time to try again. But could he really stop who he was? His friends (well, friend) always blame his rash, rude, and reckless actions on his vicodin abuse, or his alcohol problem, or his leg pain. As if that wasn't his fault as well. But do any of those things really have anything to do with it? Or is it just him? He's been consistently alienating people since he learned how to talk. He has always been rude, always been selfish. Peel away the addictions and pain, both emotional and physical, you don't have some self sacrificing saint. You still just have House. **A misanthropic, bitter, apathetic son of a bitch**. He thinks bitterly to himself as he stops briefly at a red light._

_It doesn't matter, he decides, whether he changes or not. Because he will always be miserable. He will always be the man that-_

_His self pitying thoughts are cut off by a blaring car horn. Jerking his head to locate where the noise was coming from, he has only time to see the massive headlights of an eighteen wheeler before a slamming, unbelievable force crashes into him. He lets out one choking, strangled noise, then his entire world goes black._

**xxxxxx**

House's eyes split open, revealing a familiar white space. He feels the cold steel underneath him, the lack of leg pain, and it only takes him a second to know where he is.

_I'm on the bus again. _He realized. His mind raked over the memories he had recovered since the one that was triggered the night before. For the first time since the crash, he has gained a true understanding of who he was before his memory was destroyed. Before he was, to put it in the most dramatic way possible, reborn.

He had see a man who was hurt, tortured, damaged and broken. Victim of a life of tragedy that was half his fault, half not. A man who had missed the lesson on how to cope, how to express his feelings without completely self destructing.

He couldn't bring himself to hate who he was before, anymore. He only felt sorry for him. He breathed deeply, and he smelled her, the scent of lavender wafting around him. The woman whose eyes he had watched close as she bled half to death on the floor of the cross-town bus. The woman whose voice had haunted him, dragged him to the brink of insanity. The first face he remembered when he woke up.

Amber.

"Hey, House." She greeted, catching his eyes. He looked down at himself, and he was dressed in a hospital gown. Nothing hurt here, and it was a blissful feeling. "Long time no see."

"No kidding." He responded, shifting in the seat and enjoying being able to move without a bolt of pain tearing up his leg. "I remember."

"You remember some things." She said with a shrug, her long blond hair trailing down her beige coat. A red scarf was wrapped around her neck. The same red scarf he had wrapped around her leg when she was impaled. "Come on, quit dwelling on the past."

"I technically just learned the past, making it the present." House replied, running a hand through his hair. "Am I... am I dead? I thought I was dead the last time I was here."

"And you weren't then, so why would you be dead now?" She asked, a small smile forming on her red lips as she ruffled his hair. "This time, no semi. You just bumped your head."

"Am I going to remember everything?" He asked her worriedly. Just the few months worth of memories he had experienced were tearing at his heart. Everything from the pain in Cuddy's eyes as she said goodbye to him for the last time, the disappointment directed at him by Thirteen, the worry and sadness of Wilson's words as he pleaded with him to stop destroying himself.

"I don't know." She answered honestly.

"I don't want to." He said. "It's... I understand, now. I understand _him_."

"Him?" Amber questioned.

"The old me." He corrected. "I don't get it. You said I was getting a second chance. A second chance at what? If I'm just going to remember how shitty my life was, become the same misanthropic bastard..." He sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. "What the hell is the point?"

"You should have died." Amber observed. "That semi should have killed you, or the cardiac arrest afterwards. Why do you think you lived?" She inquired curiously. He shrugged.

"I never really put any thought into it. I was lucky." He raised an eyebrow at the ghost of the dead doctor. "What, are you saying it was divine intervention?" She shrugged with a smirk, averting her ice blue eyes. She stared out the window, even though outside of the pristine white bus, there was nothing but empty space.

"You're still alive, House." She said. "That's something that you should be grateful for."

"Yeah." House muttered quietly.

"Do I sense some unresolved issues?" A voice asked from behind him, right next to his ear. It wasn't Amber's. He jerked in his seat, turning to meet the eyes of the speaker, which were identical to his.

Electric blue eyes bore into him. Dark circles hung underneath them. He took in the other man's appearance. He had wild gray-brown hair that didn't seem to have been brushed in quite a while. A condescending smirk hung on his completely unscarred face. His muscles were thinner than his own, and he was skinnier as well. He twirled a cherry cane in one hand, examining him with an intense, curious gaze.

"Look who finally joined the party." He said. The man's voice was deeper than his own. Since the accident, his has remained slightly hoarse and nasal.

"You're..." He gaped at the other man, who rolled his eyes at his dumbfounded expression.

"What? Don't recognize me?" The man asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. He leaned forward, stomping the cane on the ground and resting his chin on the handle. The disturbingly familiar eyes held a spark of amusement. "Pretty sad, really... considering I'm you."

* * *

_**"Is there a God tonight, up in the sky, or is it empty just like me?"**_

* * *

**A/N: Worry not, all questions will be answered in the sequel. There was a point to House reliving all these terrible memories. The sequel to "Empty", the working title of which is "Meaning", will show House on an emotional and mental journey to find out who he really is, and what he wants. I don't know when the sequel will be along, but hopefully it will be worth the inevitable wait. Now, I just want all of you - readers, reviewers, followers, and favoriters, that this story would not have happened without you. This being my first fan fic, all the love from you guys gave me the confidence to write my little heart out, and I have grown so much as a writer. Thank you, thank you, thank you.**

**By the way, if you guys ever get bored, I've been told my profile is mildly entertaining. If you liked "Empty", you'll probably like my other stories as well.**


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